,1822  01076  4371 


& 


•  • ' 


4371 


u 

57 


KVVfe^& 


LIBRARY 


MARY,  MOTHER  OF  WASHINGTON. 


EOSA, 

THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

iltq  fur  Tffotf!^  ami  'Ooung  Juilus  *f  3p** 


PROF.  H.  M.  COTTINGER,  A.  M., 

>ttli«r  <>/ "  Mct/in<{  t>/  Teaching  ff High  Schools  of  Switzerland"  "  Mediaval 
Plays  <!/"/««  •(</•  Ruejf"  "(riiittcfir  Sttinliiy-sctioois  of  Free  German 
Congregations"  "Elements  of  I  'niversul  History,"  etc. 


'And  Ills  (man's)  house  grows  ;ip:n  e; 
Ami  oVr  it  is  ruling 
'I'he  housewife  so  moilc-.t, 
His  children's  dear  mother; 
And  wisely  she  governs 
The  circle  of  home. 
The  maidens  she  trains. 
And    he  hoys  she  restrains; 

•  lying  forever 
Her  hands  that  (lag  neve  •. 

—Schiller. 


SAN  JOSE,  CAT,.: 
Published    by    the    Author. 

THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SAN  DfFr 


JCLLA,  CALIFORNIA 


Entered  According  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  Year  1887,  by 

FR.OF.   H.   1*1.   COTTIUQ-KR.,   -A..    IwT. 

In  the  Office  of  the  LiDrarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington.  D.  C. 


V\0\)St. 
MO 


TO 
THE   MEMORY   OF 


HIS   FAITHFUL   WIFE,    THE   LOVING   MOTHER 
OF   HIS   CHILDREN, 

THIS     VOLUME 

IS 
AFFECTIONATELY     DEDICATED     BY 

THE  AUTHOR. 


ACCORDING  to  the  advice  of  Ephraim  Leasing,  the  preface 
of  a  book  ought  to  contain  nothing  but  the  history  of  its 
origin.  Congrr.ently  to  thia  advice  1  have  to  state  the  fol- 
lowing concerning  my  book: — 

Its  groundwork  was  already  laid  in  1824,  when  I  was  a  stu- 
dent iu  the  University  of  Vienna.  I  made,  at  that  time,  an  ex- 
tract from  tho  text-book  of  the  University  used  for  instruction 
in  pedagogic  science.  Two  years  later  I  read  the  writings  of  H. 
Pwtalozzi  and  J.  Paul  Ilichter,  and  besides  J.  J.  Rousseau's 
"Kmilo,"  the  most  celebrated  work  written  on  education;  I 
also  made  excerpts  from  the  latter  work.  In  1833  I  composed 
a  complete  pedagogic  theory,  and  offered  my  manuscript  to  a 
bookseller  in  Zurich,  Switzerland,  where  I  was  then  a  teacher. 
After  having  examined  it  he  refused  to  print  it.  After  that  I 
made  an  extract  of  it,  condensing  its  practical  parts  into  a  sys- 
tem, and  shut  the  new  volume  up  in  my  desk.  Since  I860,  while 
living  in  the  United  States,  I  read  the  educational  writings  of 
Herbert  Spencer,  Baincs,  Locke,  Horace  Mann,  and  others,  and 
compared  them  with  my  manuscript.  In  1884  I  went  on  a  journey 
to  my  old  country,  and  found,  in  the  public  library  of  Zurich,  Salz- 
maim's fumou-;  book,  "The  Crab's  Gait"  ("daa  Krebs  biichlein") 
which  I  copied,  for  it  was  not  to  be  had  in  the  book-stores. 
Though  it  was  written  in  the  last  century,  it  contains  a  treasure 
of  educational  wisdom;  therefore,  I  added  its  greater  part  to  my 
manuscripts.  Salzmann  was  a  prominent  author  of  pedagogic 
writings,  and  director  of  the  great  Orphan  Asylum,  in  Halle, 
Prussia. 

Tho  first  part  of  my  book,  inscribed  "Model  Mothers,"  was 
written  in  1883,  aft-T  my  retum  from  Europe.  Its  composition 
\v;is  a  difficult  task.  I  scrutinized  a  hundred  or  more  biogra- 
phies, but  the  mothers  of  their  heroes  and  heroines  were  either 
passed  by  with  sileaca,  or  only  mentioned  in  a  few  lines.  With 


vi  PREFACE. 

some  readers  the  few  I  selected  will  not  pass  as  models,  for  what 
human  creature  is  free  from  every  flaw?  Has  not  even  the  sun 
its  dark  spots?  Take  a  fine  lace  veil  of  Brussels,  it  appear.;  to 
the  eye  to  be  a:i  entirely  symmetrical  network;  but  if  you  exam- 
ine it  with  the  microscope,  you  find  it  full  of  crooks  and  irregu- 
larities. That's  human  work.  .  Alas  !  the  German  dean,  Dinter, 
is  right,  when  he  says: — 

"  Besser  maclien,  besser  werden: 
Das  ist  unser  Loos  auf  Erden." 

(To  make  it  bettor,  to  grow  better:  that's  our  lot  on  earth. ) 

In  this  way  the  present  volume  originated.  I  wrote  it  for 
mothers  and  young  ladies  of  age,  because  such  books,  purposely 
compossd  for  them,  arc  an  exception  to  the  rule,  most  of  peda- 
gogic work.?  being  written  for  teachers,  scholars,  or  men  in  gen- 
eral. In  order  to  make  it  more  palatable  to  the  fair  sex,  I  com- 
posed it  in  tho  form  of  a  correspondence,  putting  the  principles 
of  education  into  the  mouth  of  a  mother.  My  wife  was  the 
model  for  my  letters.  In  every  letter  I  asked  myself  if  sho 
would  have  spoken  or  written  that  way.  If,  nevertheless,  I 
missed  the  truo  womanly  style,  the  ladies  may  pardon  my  as- 
sumption. True,  Shakespeare  delineated  the  characters  of  his 
heroines  in  an  accomplished  style,  yet  in  accordance  with  nature; 
but  I  am  no  .Shakespeare.  I  added  to  every  letter  illustrations 
by  examples  which  bear  a  similar  relation  to  the  letters,  like  the 
positive  of  a  photograph  to  its  negative,  or  like  practice  to  the- 
ory. 

In  conclusion,  I  offer  my  heart-felt  thanks  to  the  ladies  and 
gentlemen  who  have  kindly  reviewed  and  corrected  my  MsS., 
viz.:  Mrs.  Nellie  Eyster,  authoress  and  teacher;  Misses  Jessica 
Thomson,  Myrtie  Hudson,  and  Glora  Bennett,  teachers  of  the 
Normal  School  of  California;  Misses  Belle  Bird  and  Caroline 
Schilling,  public  teachers ;  Mr.  W.  Childs,  Professor  of  the  Nor- 
mal School  of  California,  and  Mr.  E.  A.  Clark,  M.  D.;  finally  t  • 
Mr.  W.  Holding  and  Miss  Agnes  Barry,  public  librarians  of  San 
Jose,  who  kindly  furnished  me  all  the  books  necessary  for  the 
composition  of  this  volume. 

THK  AUTHOR. 
San  Jo*.1,  Califunud,  1887. 


DKDICATION 3 

\CE 5 

PART  THE  FIRST— THE  MODEL  MOTHER. 

lNTR01>riT|i>N 15 

Mary  Washington,  Mother  of  President  G.  Washington  ...  17 
Mrs.   Elisabeth  Gary,  Mother  of  the  Poetesses  Alice  and 

PlwebeCary 28 

Cornelia,  Mother  of  the  Two  Brothers  Gracchi 33 

The  Mothers  of  Goethe  and  Schiller,  the  Two  Greatest  Ger- 
man Poets   37 

Frederic  Schiller's  Mother 41 

The  Mother  of  the  French  Poet,  Francis  Coppe"e 42 

Mrs.  ,1.  in.s  \V.  White 44 

Socrates  and  l:i.s  Son.     A  Dialogue  on  the  Merits  of  Mothers.  48 

Letitia  Bonaparte,  Mother  of  Emperor  Napoleon  1 53 

Mrs.  Nancy  Lincoln,  Mother  of  President  Abraham  Lincoln.  59 

Volurnnia,  Mother  of  Coriolanus Gl 

Hedwig,  Mother  of  tl:c  Children  of  William  Tell 67 

Tin:  Mother  of  Joseph  Haydn,  the  Celebrated  <  Icrman  Com- 
poser   72 

Sophie  Hug  ,  Mother  of  Victor  Hugo,  the  Greatest  French 

Poet  in  our  Century 74 

The  Duchess  of  Kent,  Mother  of  Queen  Victoria  of  England.  85 

Armtjart,  a  Poor  Mother  with  Several  Children 88 

Katharine  Bora,  Mother  of  Martin  Luther's  Children 91 

Rosina  King,  Mother  of  the  Author 93 

Rosa  Miller,  Mother  of  the  Author's  Children 96 


vl 


TJ1E  SKCOXD—  ROSA'S  LETTERS 
ON   EDUCATION. 

i    81  KII:S. 

Culture  of  the  Body  .................................  103 

F[I;ST  LKTTKK.  —  Occasion  and  Contents  of  the  Letters  .....  103 

SECOND  LKTTER.  —  Notion  and  Design  of  Education.     Qual- 

ities of  the  Educating  Mother.     Literature  011  Education.  104 

II.LI  STCATIONS.  —  Two  Sad  Cases  of  Careless  Mothers  .......  107 

A  Loving  Mother  ..................................  108 

M»w   a  Mother  Sympathizes  with  Her  Wayward  Son.  ...  110 

TIIIKJ>  LETTER.  —  Means  of  Physical  Culture.  Air,  Water, 
Washing  and  Bathing,  Light  and  Warmth,  Clothing  and 

Bedding  ............................................  113 

1  Ll,i  STRATION.S.—  Mrs.  Eve    .............................     1  10 

Her  Sister  ........................................  ,   1  1C 

A  Reasonable  Physician  ...............................   117 

FOURTH  LETTER.  —  Continuation,  Nourishment,  Suckling  of 
the  Child.  A  Plan  of  Diet  for  Children  ................  117 

1  1.  1.  1  STRATI  ON.  —  Mr.  Flabby  .............................   119 

Finn  LETTER.  —  Conclusion,  Motion,  Rocking  in  the  Cra- 
dle, Plays,  Gymnastic  Exercises,  Rest  .................  ]  20 

SIXTH  LKTTKK.—  Epoch  of  Development  of  Girls  .........   122 

II.M.STKATION.  —  What  Dr.  Clarke  Reports  about  a  School- 
girl Fifteen  Years  Old  ,  .............................   124 

Si.\  i  \  i  ii  I.KTTEU.  —  Therapeutics  of  the  Body,  Thrushes  of 
Children,  Teething,  Healing  of  Pampering,  General  lie- 
marks  ..............................................  J26 

ILLUSTRATIONS.—  The  Miracle-worker  .....................   128 

The  Quack  .........................................    i  •_:• 

The  Poisoned  Child  .................................    131 

SEQOM>    SI.UIKS—  INTELLECTUAL   CULTURE. 

EIGHTH  LETTER.—  Summary  of  the  Series,  Culture  of  the 

Intuitive  Faculty,  Images  ............................  132 

ILLUSTRATIONS.  —  The  Rose.    A  Dialogue  ...............  131 

Pity.    A  Dialogue  ..................................  136 

\IMII  LETTER.—  Culture  of  Intellect  Proper,  Toys  .......  138 

ILLUSTI:  \Tin\-.     Tin-  \Vatrh.     A  Dialogue  ..............  i:;:» 

The  Way  to  Make  Children  Stupid  ....................  142 


CONTENTS.  ix 

TENTH  LETTER. — Religious  Instruction 143 

li,i.i  STRATIONS. — The  First  Apple  Tree.     A  Dialogue 145 

The  Zealous  Mrs.  Elizabeth 147 

The  Wildenspuch  Tragedy 148 

The  Templar  and  the  Patriarch  of  Jerusalem,   from  Les- 

sing'a  "  Nathan  the  Wise  " 149 

The  Fanatic,  Mrs.  Fanny  Smith J51 

The  Swallow  Nest 153 

"The Mother  Is  Dead" 154 

ELEVENTH  LETTER. — .Esthetical  Refinement 154 

ILLUSTRATION. — Little  Mat 157 

TWELFTH  LETTER. — Culture  of  Memory.     Instruction  in  the 

Native  Language 159 

SUPPLEMENT. — How  Rosa  and  Henry  learned  to  read. ...     161 

Images 162 

Composition  of  the  Letters 163 

THIRTEENTH  LETTER. — The  Kindergarten 165 

SUPPLEMENT. — An  Outline  of  Froebel's  Kindergarten 167 

THIRD   SERIES. 

Moral  Culture 174 

SECTION  FIRST. 

Moral  Culture  in  General 174 

FOURTEENTH  LKTTER. — Preliminary  Notions,  Essence  of 
Reason  and  Mind,  Difference  Between  Right  and  Legality, 
Morality  an  1  Manners,  Reason  and  Intellect,  Emotion  and 

Sensation ....  174 

ILLUSTRATIONS. — The  Good  Samaritan 177 

Princess  Paulina  Schwarzenberg 177 

FIFTEENTH  LETTER. — Means  of  Moral  Culture 178 

First:  Instruction 178 

ILLUSTRATION. — Benevolence  Towards  Enemies.    A  Dialogue  180 

SIXTEENTH  LETTER. — Continuation : 181 

ILLUSTRATION. — War.     A  Dialogue 183 

SEVENTEENTH  LETTER. — Conclusion 184 

ILLUSTRATIONS. — Honesty  is  the  Best  Policy.     A  Dialogue.  186 

Telemachus,  from  Ftfnelon 1SS 

EiuiiTi.rvrii  I.r.i  ri:u.  — Th'j  E:::i!iiplo  of  the  Parents,  Broth- 
ers and  Sisters,  and  Companions  of  Youth 190 


x  CONTENTS. 

ILLUSTRATIONS. —The  <'nu-l  Kilian 194 

Little  Andruw    11)5 

n.   <  Vii>-i,  from  P.  15.  Shelby's  Tragedy  "  The  Cenci"  195 
NIM  1 1  I.N  i  :i  LETTER. —  Heading,  Narrations,  History,  Bibli- 
cal History,  Fables,  Plays,  Kmn.inces 1101 

Ii. LUSTRATION.—  What  I  I  .iked  to  Head 'J03 

'l'\\iNiniM  LI:TTKK.    "Coiiset|iunces  of  Actions '_0<~> 

Ii.usri;  \  i  IONS.    -The  Young  Spendthrift L'OJ 

Pet  Morgan 207 

TWF.NTV-I--I  KST  LETTER. — Conclusion,  Recompenses  and  Pun- 
ishments   208 

ILLUSTKVI  IONS.     Tin;  Disobedient  Christina 212 

Punish  Your  Children  if  They  Tell  the  Truth  in  Order  to 

Make  Them  Liars 213 

T  \\rNTv-sK.oiNi.  Lirn-KK.  —Ignorance,  Juvenile  Plays 214 

1 1.1  r.vn;  M  KIN.     Auntie  Rosemary. . .- •_>]<> 

Twi:-.  i  v  i  IMI;I>  LKTTKK. — Therapeutics  of  Moral  Failings  — 

The  Vice  of  Onanism 217 

1 1.1  i  .STRATI ON. — The  Fashionable  Young  Lady ...   221 

i  ION    ,SECONJ>. 

( 'ultivation  of  Some  Single  Features  of  Character 2'2.'{ 

T\VI:N  n   i  (.i  KTII  Li.iri.it. — Cheerfulness  of  Mind.    Thought- 
lessness    2^3 

Ii.i.r^i  KA  i  IONS. — A  Precious  Couple  of  Parents 225 

Little  Gustiivus ±.>!i 

TWENTY-FIFTH  LKTTEII. — Diligence,  Luxincss,  Some  Remarks 
on  Teachers  and  Public  Schools 227 

ILLUSTRATIONS. — The  Treasure-digger 231 

Means  for  Making  Children  Loth  to  "Well-doing 232 

A  Pica  for  ( 'hildren.     A  Dialogue 233 

I  lo\v  to  1  (cvrlop  in  Children  a  Taste  for  Idleness 234 

Teachers  An-  ;d.-o  Mm 235 

TWENTY-SIXTH  LETTER. — Thrift  and  Frugality,  Cravingness, 
Avarice  and  Prodigality  of  Children,  Love  of  Order  and 
Cleanliness,  Vanity 236 

ILLUSTRATIONS.— How  to  Make  Children  Fond  of  Dainties.  .   233 

Mr.  Anthony 239 

The  Vainglorious  Ernestine 240 


CONTENTS.  xi 

TWKNTY-SKVKNTII   LETTER. — General  Respect  for  Mankind, 

Regard  for  the  Property  of  Others 242 

Filching,  Veracity,  Lying,  Patriotism 242 

lu.t  STUATIONS.  -The  Maid-servants  and  their  Mistress  . . .  245 
How  to  Teach  Children  to  Lie,  Order  Them  to  Lie  Betinie  246 
Laugh  at  the  Lies  of  Your  Children  and  Recompense  Them 

if  They  Lie 248 

A  Model  of  Conventional  Lies 248 

The  Sick  Grandmother  and  Little  Rodolph   249 

The  Twentieth  Century ' ...  250 

The  Rich  and  Poor 252 

.\  hraham  Lincoln 254 

TUKMV  Ktuinii    LETTER. — Filial  Love,     Gratitude,    Obe- 
dience,     Disobedience,     irritability,     Willfulness    and 

Defiance — On  the  Screaming  of  Children 255 

ILLUSTRATIONS. — Wrong  Your  Children  and  They  Will  Hate 

You 259 

How  to  Teach  Children  Disobedience 261 

Moralize  Frequently  with  Children 262 

How  to  Render  Children  Willful 203 

Tony,  the  Spoiled  Child 264 

The  Ungrateful  Child 267 

How  a  Brother  Becomes  a  Father 267 

'1  '\\  F:\ TV-NINTH  LETTER. — Sexual  Love.    Choice  of  a  Spouse  269 
ILLUSTRATIONS. — Margaret.     From  Goethe's  "Faust  "...     .  271 
The  Betrothment.     From  Goethe's  "  Herman  and  Doro- 
thea " 277 

The  Wedding  Day.     From  H.  Longfellow's  poom  "Miles 

Standish  " 282 

THIRTIETH  LETTER. — On  the  Choice  of  a  Calling £83 

I  i.i.rsTRATioNS.— The  Insane  Priest 285 

How  He  Found  His  Calling 286 

CONCLUSION  OF  THE  LETTERS 290 

SUPPLEMENT. — Little  Original  Narratives  for  the  First  Cult- 
ure of  Mind  and  Intellect  of  Children,  also  Adaptable 

for  the  First  Reading 290 

Moral  Narratives 290 

Narratives  from  /oology 298 


PART  THE  FIRST 


MODEL   MOTHERS. 


INTRODUCTION. 


IN  the  following  pages  the  Author  narrates  some  examples  of 
good  mothers;  but  there  are,  besides,  plenty  others  whom  to 
introduce  the  limited  space  of  the  book  has  forbidden.  Indeed, 
mothers  are  generally  good  by  nature;  a  bad  mother  is  an  unnat- 
ural creature.  Socrates  describss  in  the  seventh  narrative,  the 
acts  of  love  and  kindness  which  mothers,  in  general,  exhibit 
to  their  children.  As  the  mothers  were  at  the  time  of  Socrates 
in  Athens,  so  they  are  to-day  in  all  countries  of  the  world.  True, 
they  are  not  all  eulogized  like  the  mothers  of  Washington  and 
Napoleon,  but  what  of  that?  A  proverb  says:  "The  best  women 
are  those  of  whom  they  speak  least."  It  is  the  same  with  moth- 
ers. The  mother  gives  birth  to  the  child;  she  bears  the  heavier 
part  of  education;  she  is  the  nurse,  the  teacher,  the  playmate, 
the  confidante  and  friend,  the  godhead  of  the  child. 

As  a  rule,  women  are  better  than  men;  truly  they  are  the  bet- 
ter halves  of  our  life,  as  the  American  says.  The  woman,  not 
the  man,  is  the  crown  of  creation.  "The  hand  that  rocks  the 
i-uidln,  rocks  the  world."  "The  woman  is  the  queen-mother  of 
tin-  race.  Ever  since  I  can  remember,  I  bave  advocated  woman's 
claim  to  equality  if  not  superiority."*  Schiller,  the  pott,  gives 
a  In  i-ht  picture  of  her  in  his  "Song  of  the  Bell,"t  thus: —  . 

"  Man  must  plant  and  must  form. 
Gain  by  cunning  »r  Sturm, 
But  in  the  house  it  IB  ruling 
The  housewife  so  modest, 
His  children's  dear  mother; 
And  wisely  she  governs 
The  circle  of  home. 
The  maidens  she  trains, 
Anil  the  boys  she  restrains, 

'Mrs.  Elmina  l>.  Slenker. 

tThe  poems  of  Schiller,  translated  by  E.  A,  Bowring,  London. 


XVI 


INTIIODI  «  TIOV. 


Keeps  plying  forever 

Her  hands  that  flag  never, 

And  wealth  helps  to  rune 

With  her  orderly  ways; 

The  sweet-seen  ted  presses  with  treasure  piles  lii^li, 
J5i<!s  the  thread  round  the  fast- whirling  spindle  to  fly; 
The  cleanly  and  bright-polished  chest  she  heaps  fid! 
With  the  flax  white  as  snow  and  the  glistening  wool: 
.\11  glitter  and  splendor  ordains  for  the  best, 

And  takes  no  rest." 

Therefore  man  ought  to  appreciate  and  highly  respect  tin; 
worth  and  merits  of  womankind,  especially  those  of  the  wife  of 
hi ^  l)osom,  according  to  the  exhortation  of  the  same  poet,  who 
says*:— 

"All  honor  to  women  ! — they  soften  and  leaven 
The  cares  of  the  world  with  the  roses  of  Heaven — 

The  ravishing  fetters  of  love  they  entwine; 
Their  charms  from  the  world's  eye  modestly  veiling. 
They  foster  and  nourish  with  care  never  failing, 
The  fire  eternal  of  feelings  divine." 

•"The  Praise  of  Women,"  in  the  Poems  of  Schiller. 


MARY  WASHINGTON,  MOTHER  OF 
PRESIDENT  GEORGE  WASH- 
INGTON.* 


AUGUSTINE  WASHINGTON  left,  as  he  died 
JTx  (1743),  to  his  wife,  Mary,  five  children,  of  which 
the  eldest,  George,  afterwards  President  of  the  United 
States,  was  eleven  years.  The  charge  of  the  education 
of  her  children,  and  of  the  direction  of  their  economical 
affairs,  required  much  resolution  and  force  'in  the  char- 
acter of  the  widow.  Mrs.  Washington  discharged  her 
duties  with  great  faithfulness  and  entire  success.  Her 
good  sense,  her  constant  application,  her  tenderness  and 
vigilance,  overcame  all  obstacles,  and  she  received  the 
sweetest  recompense  of  the  troubles  and  labors  of  a 
mother.  She  had  the  fortune  to  see  all  her  children 
enter  into  the  world  with  fair  expectations,  and  occupy 
there  places  honorable  for  themselves  and  for  her  who 
alone  had  directed  their  principles,  their  conduct,  and 
their  character.  She  lived  long  enough  to  see  the  noble 
career  of  her  eldest  son,  till  to  the  moment  when  he  was 
placed  at  the  head  of  a  nation,  and  obtained  the  suffrages 
and  the  respects  of  the  whole  world.  They  have  said 
that  there  never  was  a  great  man  whose  greatness  could 
not  be  retraced  to  the  qualities  or  to  the  original  influence 
of  his  mother.  If  this  be  true,  the  human  race  owes 
naich  to  the  mother  of  Washington. 

Mary  Washington,  after  having  lost  her  husband,  began 


'"Memoirs  of  the  Mother  :-.iul   Wife  of  Washington,"  by  Mary  Conkling. 
Vie,  correspondence  et  eci-its  du  Washington,  par  M.  Ouizot. 

2  (17) 


18  Tin:  Ei)i'(  .\rrN(i  MOTHER. 

most  strikingly  to  show  her  extraordinary  characteristics. 
Gifted  with  great  firmness  and  constancy  <•!'  purpose,  as 
well  as  with  a  clear,  discriminating  judgment,  and  re- 
markable mental  independence,  her  self- reliance  was 
rapidly  strengthened,  and  soon  rendered  habitual,  by 
circumstances  so  peculiarly  demanding  its  exercise  as 
those  in  which  duty  imperatively  summoned  her  to  act. 

Her  thorough  knowledge  of  practical  life  enabled  her 
not  only  to  superintend,  in  person,  the  complicated  and 
important  pecuniary  affairs  of  her  children,  and  the  gen- 
eral interest  of  her  household,  but,  also,  by  her  inde- 
fatigable industry  and  ingenuity  to  .supply,  in  a  good 
degree,  whatever  was  necessary  to  the  welfare  and  com- 
fort of  her  family.  Mrs.  Washington  had  henceforth 
the  exclusive  direction  of  the  primary  education  of  her 
children.  At  once  their  companion,  mentor,  counselor, 
and  friend,  she  encouraged  them  to  mental  exertion,  to 
moral  culture,  to  athletic  exercise.  She  taught  them 
self-respect,  respect  for  the  rights  and  feelings  of  others, 
self-control,  and  patience  under  fatigue  and  suffering. 
She  stimulated  in  them  a  fondness  for  labor  and  for 
knowledge.  She  inspired  them  with  affection  for  cadi 
other,  and  for  their  country,  and  with  the  fear  and  love 
of  God.  In  short,  it  was  her  systematic  and  unceasing 
endeavor  to  illustrate  and  enforce  willing  compliance 
with  the  all-wise  and  immutable  laws  by  which  the 
physical,  intellectual,  .and  moral  nature  of  man  should 
lie  harmoniously  and  unitedly  governed.  Thus  order, 
regularity,  and  occupation,  sympathy,  cheerfulness,  and 
unity,  reigned  supreme  among  the  youthful  denizens  of 
her  little  world  of  home.  She  exacted  implicit  obedience 
from  her  children,  and  she  tempered  maternal  tenderness 


MARY  WASHINGTON.  19 

by  strict  domestic  discipline;  but  we  are  told  by  one* 
who,  as  the  companion  of  her  son,  occasionally  shared 
her  care  and  hospitality,  that  she  was  "indeed  truly 
kind." 

In  that  genuine  and  judicious  kindness  lies  the  secret 
of  the  power  always  maintained  by  this  venerated  mother 
over  the  minds  of  her  offspring.  If  she  assumed  the 
right  to  direct  the  actions  of  others,  her  daily  b'fe  ex- 
hibited such  powers  of  self-control  and  self-denial  as  con- 
vinced her  children,  by  more  irresistible  evidence  than 
mere  words  could  convey,  of  the  justice  and  .disinter- 
estedness by  which  she  was  habitually  actuated.  That 
she  rendered  their  home — simple,  nay,  even  humble 
though  it  might  be — endearing  to  her  children,  is  proved, 
in  some  degree,  by  the  frequency  and  pleasure  with 
which,  as  we  gather  from  much  evidential  testimony, 
the  happy  band  that  once  rejoiced  in  the  comfort  and 
security  of  her  well-ordered  abode  in  after  years  revisited 
the  maternal  roof.  Indeed,  we  are  expressly  informed 
upon  the  best  authority  that  an  interdiction  of  the  in- 
nocent amusements  and  relaxations,  a  taste  for  which  is 
MI  natural  to  the  young,  formed  no  part  of  the  system  of 
juvenile  training  practiced  with  such  pre-eminent  success 
by  Mrs.  Washington.  She  never  rendered  necessary 
restraint  and  discipline  needlessly  distasteful  or  repulsive 
by  ascetic  sternness  or  harsh  compulsion.  The  |X)wer 
that  sometimes  gently  covered  the  subjects  of  her  guid- 
ance was  a  moral  suasion  far  more  effective  and  beneficial 
than  influences  of  fear  and  constraint. 

Of  all  the  mental  qualities  of  this  celebrated  woman, 

"Laurence  Washington.  Esq.,  of  Chotank. 


20  THE  EmvATix<;  MOTHER. 

perhaps  none  \sas  more  constantly  illustrated  in  her  life 
than  her  native  i/»n<I  sense,  the  practical  ellirts  of  which 
were  infinitely  more  useful  and  precious  to  her  children 
than  she  could  possibly  have  rendered  volumes  of  theo- 
retic precept.  To  her  possession  of  this  unpretending 
hut  invaluable  characteristic,  emphatically  her  illustrious 
son  was  indebted  for  the  education  that  formed  the  basis 
of  his  greatness.  This  it  was  that  taught  him  those 
habits  of  appb'cation,  industry,  and  regularity,  that  were 
of  such  essential  service  to  him,  alike  in  the  camp  and 
in  the  Cabinet.  This  it  was  that,  by  inculcating  and 
enforcing  habitual  temperance,  exercise,  and  activity, 
strengthened  and  developed  the  wonderful  phy.-ii-al 
powers  that  were  rivaled  only  by  the  indomitable  will 
and  stupendous  wisdom  of  her  son. 

To  hi's  mother  Washington  owed  the  high  value  he 
attached  to  "tin:  only  •jtn.wxxinii.  of  vqjkieh  all  nn'n  <irr 
prodigal,  and  of  whiek  nil  nn-n  xlumld  beeovetoue;  and 
from  her  early  instructions  he  imbibed  that  f»c<- of  fri'fli 
for  which  he  was  remarkable,  and  which  is  so  pleasingly 
and  forcibly  illustrated  in  some  of  the  favorite  anecdote.- 
of  our  childhood.* 

Iligidly  regardful  of  the  dictates  of  an  enlightened 
conscience,  her  gifted  son  was  indebted  to  Mrs.  Wash- 
ington for  his  quick  moral  sense,  and  the  unflinching 
adhesion  to  principle  that,  so  strongly  marked  every  act 
of  public  and  private  life. 

When  he  was  fourteen  years  old,  and  went  still  to 
school,  his  eldest  brother,.  Lawrence,  who  had  been  an 
officer  in  the  late  war  of  the  English  army,  and  had 

*Our  juvenile  readers  are  probably  familiar  with  I  he  stories  of  "The  Little 
Hatchet"  and  of  "  The  Sorrel  Colt." 


MARY  WASHINGTON.  21 

observed  the  military  turn  of  his  young  brother,  obtained 
for  George  a  midshipman'i  warrant,  who  prepared  with 
a  buoyant  spirit  for  hi*  departure.  Finally  the  day  for 
il  arrived,  and  the  luggage  of  the  young  enthusiast  was 
actually  conveyed  on  board  the  little  vessel  destined  to 
bear  him  away  to  his  new  post ;  but,  when  he  attempted 
to  bid  adieu  to  his  only  parent,  his  previous  resolution 
to  depart  was  for  the  first  time  subdued,  in  consequence 
of  her  ill-concealed  dejection  and  her  irrepressible  tears. 
If  his  plan  had  been  executed,  it  would  have  changed 
his  destiny,  and,  perhaps,  exerted  a  great  influence 
on  that  of  his  country.  She  persisted  in  opposing  the 
plan,  and  it  was  given  up.  This  decision  ought  not  to 
be  ascribed  to  maternal  weakness.  It  was  her  eldest 
son  (from  her  second  husband),  on  whom  alone  devolved 
the  charge  of  four  younger  children.  To  see  him  sep- 
arated {'mm  her  at  so  tender  an  age,  exposed  to  the  perils 
of  an  accident  and  the  world's  rough  usage,  without  a 
parent's  voice  to  counsel,  or  a  parent's  hand  to  guide, 
was  a  trial  of  her  fortitude  and  sense  of  duty  which  she 
could  not  be  expected  to  hazard  without  reluctance  and 
concern. 

She  proved  the  injustice  of  the  imputation  of  weak, 
maternal  fondness  by  the  cheerfulness  with  which,  almost 
immediately  after  the  abandonment  of  his  original  design," 
she  relinquished  the  pleasure  and  benefit  she  would  have 
derived  from  his  continued  residence  under  the  maternal 
roof. 

The  incipient  hero  was  soon  actively  engaged  in  the 
profession  of  engineering,  for  which  his  favorite  intel- 
lectual pursuits  and  his  taste  for  athletic  exercises  had 
already  prepared  him.  In  consequence  of  the  near 


22  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

vicinity  of'liis  half-brother,  Lawrence,  to  the  scene  of  his 
operations,  ( iconic  became  an  inmate  of  lii.s  family,  and 
continued  thenceforth  to  be  an  absentee  from  his  early 
home,  with  only  the  brief  exceptions  made  by  his  being 
occasionally  and  temporarily  there  to  aid  in  the  care  and 
arrangement  of  his  mother's  affairs. 

The  events  preceding  the  American  Revolution  were 
now  rapidly  developing,  and  Mrs.  Washington  suddenly 
beheld  her  son  elevated  to  the  position  of  the  Commander- 
in-Chief  of  the  Colonies,  a  position  surrounded  by  the 
most  imminent  dangers ;  but  we  see  this  heroic  woman 
resigning  herself  with  the  same  tranquil  submission,  and 
the  same  unaffected  cheerfulness,  by  which  her  life  had 
hitherto  been  distinguished,  to  the  decrees  of  an  over- 
ruling and  inscrutable  destiny. 

Before  his  departure  to  the  army,  Washington,  ever 
mindful  of  his  mother's  comfort  and  happiness,  even 
when  most  burdened  by  public  cares,  assisted  in  effecting 
her  removal  from  her  country  residence  to  Fredericks- 
burg.  Mrs.  Washington  was  remunerated  for  thus  re- 
nouncing her  home  by  being  placed  in  much  nearer 
proximity  to  her  friends  and  relatives,  and  in  a  position 
more  secure  from  the  dangers  of  the  war.  Bestowing  on 
him  her  blessing  and  her  prayers,  the  patriotic  mother 
bade  adieu  to  her  son  for  a  period,  the  duration  and 
events  of  which  no  mortal  vision  could  even  faintly  dis- 
cern. She  hastened,  after  this  painful  parting,  to  busy 
herself  with  the  arrangement  and  care  of  her  new  home, 
and  sought,  in  active  usefulness  and  industry,  not  only 
the  solace  of  her  own  private  griefs  and  apprehensions, 
but  the  high  pleasure  that  springs  from  the  consciousness 
of  doing  good. 


MARY  WASHINGTON.  23 

When  the  intelligence  of  the  successful  passage  of  the 
Delaware,  by  Washington  and  his  brave  companions  in 
arms,  was  communicated  to  her,  she  received  the  tidings 
with  placid  self-possession;  but  in  relation  to  such  por- 
tions of  the  dispatches  of  her  visitors  as  contained  eulo- 
gistic allusions  to  her  son,  she  simply  remarked  that 
"  George  appeared  to  have  deserved  well  of  his  country 
for  such  signal  services,"  and  added:  "But,  my  good 
sirs,  here  is  too  much  flattery.  Still,  George  will  not 
forget  the  lessons  I  have  taught  him ;  he  will  not  forget 
himself,  though  he  is  the  subject  of  so  much  praise." 

And  when,  after  the  lapse  of  long,  dark  years  of 
national  suffering,  Mrs.  Washington  was  at  last  informed 
of  the  crowning  event  of  the  great  conflict,  the  surrender 
of  Lord  Cornwallis,  she  raised  her  hands  with  profound 
reverence  and  gratitude  towards  heaven,  and  fervently 
exclaimed,  "  Thank  God !  Avar  will  now  be  ended,  and 
peace,  independence,  and  happiness  bless  our  country." 

An  interval  of  nearly  seven  years  had  passed,  when 
this  illustrious  American  matron  enjoyed  the  happiness 
again  to  behold  her  victorious  son.  Upon  the  return  of 
the  combined  armies  from  Yorktown,  the  Commander-in- 
Chief  repaired  immediately  to  Fredericksburg,  attended 
by  a  numerous  and  splendid  suite,  composed  of  the  most 
distinguished  European  and  American  officers.  Then 
he  went,  unaccompanied  and  on  foot,  to  the  modest 
mansion  of  his  mother.  She  met  him  on  the  threshold 
with  a  cordial  embrace,  her  face  beaming  with  unmingled 
pleasure,  and  welcomed  him  by  the  endearing  and  well- 
remembered  appellation  of  his  early  years.  The  quick 
eye  of  maternal  tenderness  readily  discerned  the  furrowed 
traces  of  ceaseless  toils  and  dangers  in  the  face  of  her 


•_' I  Tin    F,i>r<ATTN<;  MOTHER. 

son,  and  immediately  and  earnestly  adverted  to  the  snh- 
je.-t  of  his  health.  Yet,  as  ho  gazed  uj)on  her  beloved 
countenance,  his  happiness  was  as  unalloyed  and  exalted 
a-  earth  ran  bestow. 

The  eiti/ens  of  Fredericksburg  determined  to  celebrate 
the  arrival  of  Washington  and  his  suite  by  a  splendid 
ball.  Mrs.  Washington  received  a,  special  invitation. 
She  answered  that  although  her  dancing  days  were 
jirettv  well  over,  she  should  feel  happy  in  contributing 
to  the  general  festivity.  There  came  gay  belles,  dig- 
nified matrons,  numerous  foreign  officers  and  veteran 
heroes.  But  despite  the  charm  of  music  and  the  fas- 
cinations of  female  beauty,  all  was  eager  suspense  until 
there  entered,  unannounced  and  unattended,  the  mother 
« if  Washington,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  her  son.  Hn.-hed 
was  each  noisy  tone  and  whisjKTrd  word,  as  with  quiet 
dignity  and  unaffected  grace  they  slowly  advanced.  All 
hastened  to  approach  them,  the  European  officers  to  be 
uted  to  the  parent  of  their  beloved  commander,  and 
old  friends,  neighbors,  and  acquaintances  to  tender  their 
compliments  and  congratulations. 

Mrs.  Washington  received  these  demonstrations  of  re- 
spect and  friendship  with  perfect  self-possession  and  un- 
assuming courtesy.  She  wore  the  simple  but  becoming 
c<»-tmne  of  the  Virginia  ladies  of  the  olden  time.  All 
eyes  and  hearts  were  irresistibly  attracted  by  the  winning 
address  and  unpretending  appearance  of  the  venerable 
lady.  The  European  strangers,  accustomed  to  the  gaudy 
display  of  European  courts,  regarded  with  astonishment 
her  unadorned  attire  and  simplicity,  mixed  with  majesty. 
They  spoke  of  women  renowned  in  ancient  time-,  of  the 
celebrated  Volumnia,  and  of  the  noble  mother  of  the 


MU:Y    AY  \ -FTTXGTON.  2-") 

Gracchi,  hut  spontaneously  rendered  the  tribute  of  ad- 
miration arid  reverence  at  the  shrine  of  native  dignity 
and  real  worth.  Having  for  some  time  regarded  with 
serene  benignity  the  brilliant  and  festive  scene  which  she 
had  so  amiably  consented  to  honor  by  her  presence,  Mrs. 
Washington  expressed  the  cordial  hope  that  the  happi- 
ness of  all  might  continue  undiminished  until  the  hour 
of  general  separation  should  arrive,  and,  quickly  adding 
that  it  was  time  for  old  people  to  be  at  home,  retired  as 
she  had  entered,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  the  Comniander- 
in-('hief. 

Re-established  at  Mount  Vernon,  it  was  the  earnest 
desire  of  Washington  that  his  mother  should  thenceforth 
reside  under  his  roof.  But,  notwithstanding  his  affection- 
ale  entreaties,  she  continued  to  conduct  a  separate  estab- 
lishment, with  the  same  indefatigable  industry  which  she 
had  earlier  exhibited.  In  this  tranquil  retreat  she  long 
continued  to  receive  the  frequent  visits  of  her  children 
and  grandchildren,  blessed  in  her  happy  and  honored 
aue  by  the  consciousness  of  a  virtuous  and  well-spent  life. 

We  find  many  proofs  in  the  published  correspondence 
of  Washington  of  the  affectionate  devotion  with  which  In- 
paid  this  tribute  of  respect  to  his  mother.  Thus,  he 
assigns  his  absence  on  a  visit  to  her,  as  a  reason  for  not 
previously  replying  to  a  letter  from  the  Secretary  of 
Congress;  and  afterwards  again  in  a  letter  to  Major- 
General  Knox,  he  offers  the  same  explanation  of  a  simi- 
lar delay.  When  his  mother  was  ill,  we  perceive  that 
lie  pleads  this  honorable  errand  as  presenting  claims 
superior  to  any  public  obligation.  In  an  epistle  written 
in  17's's,  we  iind  allusions  to  a  prolonged  sojourn  under 
the  maternal  roof. 


26  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHEK. 

To  the  urgent  and  oft-repeated  requests  of  her  children 
th lit  she  would  make  with  them  the  home  of  her  age, 
Mrs.  Washington  replied :  "I  thank  you  fo«r  your  affection- 
ate offers,  but  my  wants  are  few  in  this  life,  and  I  feel  per- 
fectly  competent  to  take  care  of  myself."  We  are  informed 
that  Washington  "to  the  last  moments  of  his  mother 
yielded  to  her  will  with  the  most  implicit  obedience,  and 
felt  for  her  person  the  highest  respect  and  the  most 
enthusiastic  attachment."  When  she  heard  praise  of 
him,  she  kept  silence  or  only  said  that  he  had  been  a 
.  good  son,  and  that  she  believed  that  he  had  fulfilled  his 
duty  as  a  man. 

Previous  to  his  departure  for  France,  La  Fayette 
visited  Fredericksburg  expressly  for  the  purpose  of  mak- 
ing his  adieus  to  Mrs.  Washington.  When  he,  accom- 
panied by  one  of  her  grandsons,  approached  the  house, 
he  observed  an  aged  lady  working  in  the  adjoining 
garden.  She  wore  a  dress  of  home  manufacture  and  a 
plain  straw  bonnet.  "  There,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  "  is  my 
grandmother."  She  received  her  distinguished  guest 
with_great  cordiality,  and  with  her  usual  frank  simplicity 
of  address.  "  Ah,  Marquis ! "  she  exclaimed,  "  you  see 
an  old  woman; — but  come,  I  can  make  you  welcome  to 
my  poor  dwelling,  without  the  parade  of  changing  my 
dress."  The  Marquis  poured  forth  the  glowing  enco- 
miums to  his  former  chief  and  friend,  to  which  his 
hostess  only  replied :  "  I  am  not  surprised  at  what  George 
has  done,  for  he  was  always  a  good  boy." 

Washington,  before  his  departure  for  the  seat  of  gov- 
ernment to  assume  the  duties  of  President  of  the  United 
States,  went  to  Fredericks!  HI  rLr  t<»  pay  his  parting  respects 
to  his  aged  mother.  Foreboding  that  he  beheld  her  for 


MARY  WASHINGTON.  27 

the  last  time,  his  calm  self-possession  that  no  calamity 
ha<l  fur  years  been  able  to  shake,  yielded  to  the  claims  of 
nature,  ;ind,  overpowered  by  painful  emotion,  he  wept 
l'>n;_r,  with  bowed  head,  over  the  wasted  form  of  his 
rovcn-d  and  much-loved  parent.  Sustained  even  in  this 
trying  hour  by  her  native  strength  of  mind,  the  heroic 
mother  fervently  invoked  the  blessing  of  Heaven  upon 
him,  and  solemnly  bestowing  her  own,  bade  him  pursue 
the  path  in  which  public  duty  summoned  him  to  depart. 

Mrs.  Washington  retained  unimpaired  possession  of 
her  mental  faculties  to  her  last  moments,  but  during  the 
la-i  three  years  of  her  life  her  physical  powers  were  much 
diminished  by  a  distressing  disease,  cancer  in  the  breast, 
which  terminated  her  life  in  her  eighty-third  year  (on 
the  25th  of  August,  1789).  Her  last  hours  were  accom- 
panied by  tranquillity  and  resignation. 

Her  remains  were  interred  at  Freiericksburg,  and  tor 
many  years  her  sepulcher  was  undistinguished  by  any 
mark  of  public  respect;  but  in  1833  a  monument  was 
erected  to  her  memory,  representing  an  obelisk,  forty-five 
feet  high,  with  the  inscription:  "Mary,  the  Mother  of 
Washington."  The  shaft  is  adorned  by  a  colossal  bust 
of  Washington,  and  surmounted  by  the  American  eagle, 
sustaining  a  civic  crown  above  the  hero's  head. 


28  THE  EDIT  \rrxo 


MRS.  ELIZABETH   GARY,  MOTHER  OF 
THE  POETESSES  ALICE  AND 
PHCEBE  GARY.* 


THE  parents  of  Alice  ami  Plm-hc  ( 'ary,  the  celebrated 
poetesses  (if  America,  wen-  Robert  < 'ary  and  Kli/a- 
heth  .Jessups.  Their  lather  was  a,  farmer  in  Ohio,  and 
died  in  I80b'.  Pha-be,  in  her  memorial  of  Alice,  -rives 
this  picture  of  their  father  and  mother:  "Robert  ('ary 
was  a  man  of  superior  intelligence,  of  sound  principles, 
and  of  blameless  life.  He  was  very  fond  of  reading, 
especially  romances  and  poetry;  but  early  poverty,  and 
the  luird  exigences  of  pioneer  life,  had  left  him  no  time 
for  acquiring  more  than  the  mere  rudiments  of  a  cominoii- 
school  education.  lie  was  a  tender,  loving  father,  who 
sang  his  children  to  sleep  with  holy  hymns,  and  habitu- 
ally went  about  his»work  relating  them." 

The  wife  of  this  man,  the  mother  of  Alice  and  Phoebe 
('ary,  was  blue-eyed  and  beautiful.  Alice  said  of  her : 
".My  mother  was  a  woman  of  superior  intellect,  and  of 
good,  well-ordered  life.  In  my  memory  she  stands  apart 
from  all  others,  wiser,  purer,  doing  more,  and  living- 
better  than  any  other  woman."  And  this  is  her  por- 
trait of  her  mother  in  her  "  Order  for  a  Picture:" — 

"A  lady,  the  loveliest  ever  the  sun 
Looked  down  upon,  you  must  paint  for  me; 
Oh,  if  I  only  could  make  you  see 
The  clear  blue  eyes,  the  tender  smile, 
The  sovereign  sweetness,  the  gentle  grace, 
The  woman's  soul,  and  the  angel's  face, 
That  are  beaming  on  me  all  the  while, 


1  A  .Memorial  of  Alice  and  Phuube  C'ary,"  by  Mary  Clcmmer  Ames. 


ELIZABETH  GARY.  29 

» 

I  need  not  speak  these  foolish  words: 
Yet  one  word  tells  you  all  I  would  say, 
She  is  my  mother:  you  will  agree 
That  all  the  rest  may  l>e  thrown  away." 

Phoebe  said  of  her  mother :  "  She  was  the  wonder  of 
my  childhood ;  she  is  no  less  a  wonder  to  ine  as  I  recall 
her  now.  How  she  did  so  much  work,  and  yet  did  it 
well;  how  she  reared  carefully,  and  governed  wisely,  so 
large  a  family  of  children,  and  yet  found  time  to  develop 
by  thought  and  reading  a  mind  of  unusual  strength  and 
clearness,  is  still  a  mystery  to  me.  She  was  fond  of  his- 
tory, politics,  moral  essays,  biogrpphj,  and  works  of 
religious  controversy.  Poetry  she  read,  but  cared  little 
lor  fictitious;  literature.  An  exemplary  housewife,  a  wise 
and  kind  mother,  she  left  no  duty  unfulfilled,  yet  she 
found  time,  often  at  night  after  every  other  member  of 
the  household  was  asleep,  by  reading,  to  keep  herself 
informed  of  all  the  issues  of  the  day,  political,  social,  and 
religious." 

It'  we  remember  that  the  woman  who  kept  herself  in- 
formed of  all  the  issues  of  the  day,  political,  social,  and 
religions,  was  the  mother  of  nine  children,  a  housewife 
who  jx'iformed  the  labor  of  her  large  household  with  her 
own  liand<;  that  she  lived  in  a  rural  neighborhood, 
wherein  personal  and  family  topics  were  the  supreme 
subjects  of  discussion,  aloof  from  the  larger  interests  and 
lui.-y  thoroughfares  of  men,  we  can  form  a  more  just 
estimate  of  the  superiority  of  her  natural  powers,  and  the 
native  breadth  of  her  mind  and  heart. 

Such  were  the  lather  and  the  mother  of  Alice  and 
IMnrbc  ( 'ary.  From  their  father  they  received  the  poetic 
temperament,  the  love  of  .nature  and  of  dumb  creatures, 


30  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

• 

their  loving  and  pitying  hearts,  which  were  .so  large  that 
they  enfolded  all  breathing  and  unbreathing  thini:-. 
From  their  mother  they  inherited  their  interest  in  public 
affaire,  their  passion  for  justice,  their  devotion  to  truth 
and  duty  as  they  saw  it,  their  clear  perceptions,  and 
sturdy  common  sense.  Both  parents  were  Universalists, 
to  which  creed  Alice  and  Phoebe  adhered  faithfully  to  the 
end  of  their  life.  Let  us  see  now  what  fruits  took  rise 
from  the  mental  seed  and  the  example  of  such  parents, 
i  -s|«  -cially  from  that  of  the  mother,  in  the  lives  of  their 
children,  Alice  and  Phoebe! 

Their  mother,  who  was  taxed  far  beyond  her  strength, 
died  before  her  time  (in  1835).  After  two  years  their 
father  married  again.  The  step-mother  was  a  hard,  un- 
cultured, utilitarian  woman,  who  brought  unhappiix 
their  poetical  nature.  They  were  kept  busily  at  house- 
hold work  during  the  day,  and  could  prosecute  their 
studies  only  at  night.  This  was  a  fruitful  source  of  dis- 
seiiHon  between  them  and  the  step-mother.  Candles 
were  denied  them,  a  saucer  of  lard  with  a  bit  of  rag  for 
wick,  must  serve  instead,  and  for  ten  long  years,  they 
studied  and  wrote  and  published  without  pecuniary 
recompense;  often  discouraged  and  desponding,  yet  never 
despairing,  looking  out  to  the  graveyard  on  the  near  hill- 
side, where  their  dear  mother  was  buried,  with  a  regret 
for  the  past.  They  saw  but  few  books.  There  was,  no 
chance  to  learn  but  in  the  district  school-house:  they 
never  went  to  any  other — not  very  much  to  that.  It 
was  distant  one  mile  and  a  quarter  from  home;  this  dis- 
tance was  always  walked. 

Alice  was  but  fourteen  years  when  she  sent  a  poem  in 
secret  to  a  Boston  newspaper,  and  knew  nothing  of  its 


ELIZABETH  GARY.  31 

acceptance,  till,  to  her  astonishment,  she  saw  it  copied  in 
a  Cincinnati  paj)er.  She  laughed  and  cried  over  it.  She 
did  not  care  any  more  if  she  was  poor  or  her  clothes 
plain.  " My  schoolmates  may  know  more  than  I  do," 
she  thought,  "  but  they  can't  write  verses  that  are  printed 
in  a  newspaper."  She  afterwards  wrote  poetry  and  prose 
for  several  newspapers  and  magazines.  Her  "  Pictures  of 
Memory"  were  already  pronounced,  by  Edgar  Poe,  to 
be  one  of  the  most  musically  perfect  lyrics  in  the  English 
language.  As  a  ballad  writer  she  was  never  equaled  by 
any  American  man  or  woman.  In  interpreting  nature, 
AH-  never  failed.  Her  "Clovernook"  stories  are  pure 
idyls  of  country  life  and  character,  and  deserve  their 
place  amid  the  <'la>-ic~  of  the  English  speech. 

The  names  of  Alice  and  Phoebe  Gary  in  the  corners  of 
in-\\ -papers  and  magazines,  had  fixed  the  attention  and 
won  the  affection  of  some  of  the  best  minds  and  hearts 
in  the  land.  Men  of  letters,  among  them  John  Whittier 
and  Horace  Greeley,  had  written  the  sisters  words  of  ap- 
preciation and  encouragement. 

Alice  went  to  New  York  to  earn  a  living  by  her  pen. 
She  bought  there  a  house,  and  wrote  to  Phoebe  and  an- 
other sister  to  join  her.  They  came  to  her.  Thus  Ire^an 
'tin  life  and  work  of  Alice  and  Phoebe  Gary,  in  New 
York  (in  1850-51).  There  Alice  published,  in  twenty 
years,  eleven  volumes.  In  the  same  time  Phoebe,  beside 
aiding  in  the  edi ting  of  several  books,  brought  out  several 
books.  For  the  last  five  years  of  her  life  her  genius  was 
almost  as  productive  as  that  of  Alice.  Both  sisters 
always  retained  their  country  habit  of  retiring  and  rising 
early. 

The  last  seventeen  months  of  her  life,  Alice  was  lame ; 


32  Tin-:  Ki>i'c.vnN<!  MOTHER. 

she  never  walked  again,  save  with  crutches.  No  child 
ever  called  Alice  mother;  yd,  to  the  end  of  her  lite,  her 
love  lor  children  never  grow  faint.  She  was  especially 
fond  of  little  girls.  A  friend  of  hers,  going  into  her 
room  one  day,  saw  there  a  row  of  photographs,  all  little 
girls,  arranged  before  her  on  her  desk.  "  Whose  little 
girls  ? "  was  the  eager  question.  "  Mine !  "  Alice  an- 
swered, breaking  into  a  laugh.  "They  are  all  Alice 
Gary's;  take  your  choice.  The  only  trouble  they  make 
me  is,  I  can't  possibly  get  time  to  write  to  them  all, 
though  I  do  try  to,  to  the  babies'  mothers."  All  had 
been  sent  by  strangers,  photographs  of  the  children 
named  "Alice  Cary."  It  is  this  real  love  lor  children, 
a*  children,  which  has  given  to  both  Alice  and  Phu-be 
Cary's  books  for  little  folks,  such  genuine  and  abiding 
popularity. 

The  life  of  Alice  Cary  was  shortened  by  hard  and 
sedentary  work,  and  by  the  hot  air  of  the  city.  All  the 
money  they  wanted  was  to  be  earned  by  the  pen,  and  for 
many  years  it  was  earned  almost  exclusively  by  Alice. 
Of  rest,  recreation,  and  amusement,  she  knew  almost 
nothing. 

When  already  bedridden,  her  last  work  was  to  make  a 
cap  for  an  aged  woman;  but  she  could  not  finish  it,  her 
lingers  ached  so,  and  her  arm  became  so  tired,  she  had  to 
drop  it;  the  needle  stood  in  the  unfinished  cap.  She  fell 
in  a  deep  sleep,  out  of  which  she  once  exclaimed,  "I 
want  to  go  away."  She  <H<1  go  away,  to  return  never 
more. 

Horace  (Jreelev  said  that  such  a  funeral  as  hers  neve" 
before  gathered  in  New  York,  in  honor  of  any  woman, 
or  man  either ;  that  he  never  saw  before  in  any  one  assem- 


CORNELIA.  33 

lily  of  the  kind,  so  many  distinguished  men  and  women. 
Aloud  wept  the  women,  poor  and  old,  who  had  lived 
upon  her  tender  bounty.  Her  exceeding  kindness,  her 
en lii !•»•('(  1  charity,  and  wonderful  patience  endeared  her 
to  all  her  friends.  She  was  born  in  1820,  and  died  in 
1871. 

No  American  poet  has  ever  shown  more  passion,  pathos, 
and  tenderness  combined,  than  we  find  embodied  in  many 
of  the  minor  love  poems  of  Phoebe  Gary.  The  hymn  by 
which  she  is  most  widely  known  is  her  "Nearer  Home." 
She  was  the  wittiest  woman  in  America.  Her  wit  was 
not  premeditated,  but  spontaneous.  She  believed  sin- 
cerely in  social,  mental,  and  civil  enfranchisement  of 
women.  After  her  sister's  death,  her  own  little  store  was 
added  to  Alice's  possessions,  who  had  bestowed  them  on 
her.  Hut  with  the  sister  the  prop  of  her  life  fell  also 
into  the  grave;  she  could  not  bear  to  live  without  Alice. 
\Yhon  she  saw  no  more  the  sister,  her  very  impulse  and 
power  to  live  were  gone.  She  grew  gray  in  a  few  weeks, 
and  died  soon  after,  in  the  same  year  as  Alice. 


CORNELIA,  MOTHER  OF  THE  TWO 
BROTHERS,  GRACCHI* 


THE  children  are  my  jewels,  the  only  ones  which  I 
appreciate,  and  which  are  so  endeared  to  my  heart." 
One  of  the  most  respectable  families  in  Rome  was  that 
of  the  Sempronius,  from  which  the  Gracchi  descended, 
who  became  renowned  in  the  Roman  history.      Though 
her  family  belonged  to  the  plebeians — that  is,  to  those 

* " Frauenspiegel,"  by  F.   Raab,  and  "Distinguished  Women,"  by  Mrs 
Hale. 

3 


THE  Ei>r<  \n\<;  MOTHER. 


whose  rank  was  lower  than  that  of  the  patricians  (noble- 
men) —  it  numbered  several  among  its  members  who  rose 
by  their  merits  to  the  dignity  of  consulship,  and  be- 
came related,  by  marriage,  to  the  highest,  families. 
Tiberius  Gracchus,  the  father,  was  one  of  the  first  men 
in  the  Republic,  prominent  for  his  personal  virtues  ami 
great  qualities  of  character.  ,  His  spouse.  <  'ornelia,  (laugh- 
ter of  the  great  Scipio,  who  vanquished  Hannibal,  bore 
him  twelve  children,  but  after  his  death  only  three  of 
them,  a  daughter  and  two  sons,  Tiberius  and  Cains,  were 
still  alive. 

Cornelia  was  a  highly  cultivated  lady,  who  was  fond 
of  arts  and  sciences,  and  know  how  to  entertain  her 
friends  agreeably  in  social  gatherings.  After  the  death 
of  her  husband  she  devoted  herself  entirely  to  the  edu- 
cation of  her  children,  upon  whom,  being  a  woman  of 
noble  soul  and  excellent  intellect,  she  bestowed  a  degree 
of  refined  culture  which,  later,  was  finished  by  the  best 
teachers.  Her  highest  delight  was  to  be  the  mother")' 
the  most  accomplished  children,  and  to  bring  them  up 
worthy  of  the  Republic.  The  possession  of  rare  jewel-, 
which  the  Roman  ladies  so  highly  esteemed,  were  in- 
significant in  her  opinion,  compared  with  the  blessing  of 
being  the  mother  of  well-educated  children.  Once  she 
received  the  visit  of  a  noble  lady  from  Capua,  who  was 
possessed  with  such  vanity  that  she  not  only  appeared  in 
the  most  showy  attire  before  Cornelia,  but  even  directed 
her  attention  to  the  value  of  the  diamonds  and  other 
precious  things  with  which  she  was  adorned.  Cornelia 
looked  upon  them  with  indifference,  and  seemed  to  be 
somewhat  pu//led  when  the  lady  requested  her  to  show, 
also,  her  jewels,  Just  then  her  children  entered  the, 


CORNELIA.  35 

room,  conducted  by  the  hand  of  their  teacher.  "  Here," 
replied  the  noble-minded  mother,  pointing  to  her  sons, 
"  here  are  my  jewels ;  the  only  ones  which  I  value,  and 
which  are  so  endeared  to  my  heart." 

Her  children  grew  to  her  joy  and  satisfaction,  as  at- 
tfstcd  by  the  words  which  she  once  uttered  in  the 
presence  of  her  elder  son,  Tiberius:  "Ought  the  Romans 
to  call  me  only  the  daughter  of  Hcipio,  and  not  also  the 
mother  of  the  Gracchi  ?  "  These  words  left  a  deep  im- 
pression on  his  mind.  True,  Tiberius  had  given,  already, 
excellent  proofs  of  his  bravery,  when  he  was  a  soldier; 
he  had  also  displayed  superior  qualities  as  a  business 
man  and  a  good  orator;  but  not  till  he  had  been  elected 
Tribune  (representative  of  the  people)  did  it  seem  that 
he  would  accomplish  the  wishes  of  his  mother,  viz.,  to 
see  him  join  the  ranks  of  the  most  renowned  Romans. 
Incited  by  the  love  of  justice,  he  sided  with  the  people 
against  the  patricians,  and  tried  to  shield  them  against 
the  violent  and  oppressive  acts  of  the  latter  ones.  When 
he  traveled  in  Italy,  he  saw,  with  grief,  the  contrast  be- 
tween the  magnificent  and  large  possessions  of  the 
noble  Romans  and  the  overwhelming  misery  of  the  poor 
peasant.  While  only  a  few  occupied  immense  riches, 

tl sands  pined  in  the  lowest  misery.     In  order  to  equal- 

i/,e  this  disproportion,  he  urged  a  new  distribution  of  the 
public  lands.  Long  ago  (336  B.  c.)  one  of  the  Tribunes, 
Licinius  Stolo,  had  secured  the  agrarian  law,  as  it  was 
termed,  according  to  which  no  citi/en  could  possess  more 
than  five  hundred  acres  of  the  public  lands,  and  the 
patricians  who  owned  more  had  to  return  the  excess, 
which  was  divided  among  plebeians.  But  the  patricians 
soon  overpowered  the  law,  and  usurped  again  the  greater 


36  Tin;  Km  •  \ri\<.   MOTHER. 

]»;irt  of  the  public  lands.  Now,  when  Tiberius  (Iraechus 
wa.-  chosen  Tribune  by  the  people,  he  resolved  to  dell-nil 
their  rights,  revived  the  old  agrarian  law,  and  re-estab- 
lished it  with  much  energy.  But  he  incurred  hereby 
the  hatred  of  the  patricians,  and  the  next  year,  as  he 
attempted  to  maintain  the  law,  he  was  killed  in  a  tumult 
a  the  public  meeting  (134  u.  c.).  When  his  mi.ther 
learned  the  sad  event,  she  was  inconsolable.  She  re- 
tired from  society,  and  mourned  the  fate  of  her  son. 
She  had  summoned  him  herself  to  contend  for  honor 
and  glory  ;  but  such  an  unlucky  issue  of  his  efforts  nearly 
broke  her  heart.  Ten  years  after,  when  her  other  son, 
Cains,  became  Tribune,  he  sought  to  avenge  the  death  of 
his  brother,  and  to  complete  the  work  which  Tiberius 
had  commenced.  But  against  him,  too,  the  patrician- 
caused  a  revolt  in  Home,  in  which  he  fell  with  three 
thousand  citizens,  a  victim  for  the  people's  rights. 

The  loss  of  her  two  sons  caused  much  grief  to  Cor- 
nelia :  but  assured  that  they  sacrificed  their  lives  for  Un- 
common weal,  her  mind  found  tranquillity  in  the  general 
respect  paid  to  her  by  the  people.  For,  though  the 
corpses  of  her  sons  had  been  deprived  of  a  public 
funeral,  and  been  thrown  into  the  Tiber,  still  the  people 
honored  them  as  their  benefactors,  elevated  statues  to 
their  memory,  consecrated  the  places  where  they  had 
been  murdered,  and  offered  them  there  gifts  and  sacri- 
6oea 

Cornelia  passed  the  rest  of  her  life  on  a  manor,  where 
she  lived  according  to  her  rank,  but  in  a  simple  way. 
Surrounded  by  cultivated  friends,  she  conversed  on  the 
events  of  her  family,  like  on  other  topics  of  the  past 
tim—,  with  tranquil  resignation.  Kven  when  she  spoke 


ELIZABETH   C4OETHE.  .°,7 

of  her  sons  she  <li<l  not  heave  any  sighs,  and  displayed 
so,  in  her  sufferings,  a  greatness  of  mind,  to  which  only 
those  rise  who  possess  a  cultivated  mind.  After  her 
death  the  people  erected,  in  her  honor,  a  statue  of 
bronze  with  the  plain  inscription:  "Cornelia,  Mother  of 
the  Gracchi." 


THE  MOTHERS  OFGOETHE  AND  SCHIL- 
LER, THE  TWO  GREATEST  GER- 
MAN POETS* 


WOLFGANG  GOETHE  was  born  1749,  in  Frauk- 
fbrt-on-the-Main,  and  died  1832.     From  his  father 
the  poet  inherited  the  orderliness  and  stoicism,  the  craving 
for  knowledge,  and  the  almost  jjedantic  attention   to  de- 
tails, which  qualities  are  noticeable  in  his  writings. 

The  mother  was  more  like  what  we  conceive  as  the 
proper  parent  for  a  poet.  Her  maiden  name  was  Eliza- 
bet  h  Textor.  She  is  one  of  the  most  pleasant  figures  in 
(  M-nuan  literature,  and  one  standing  out  with  greater 
vividness  than  almost  any  other.  She  was  a  merry, 
genial,  and  whole-souled  woman  of  moderate  culture. 
She  had  read  the  most  of  German  and  Italian  authors, 
had  pieked  up  considerable  desultory  information,  and 
had  that  mother  wit,  which  so  often  in  women  and  poete 
>eems  to  render  culture  superfluous,  their  rapid  intuitions 
anticipating  tardy  conclusions  of  experience.  Her  let- 
ters are  full  of  spirit,  vigorous,  and  vivacious.  She  was 
one  of  those  rare  women  who  make  the  world  happier  by 
the  fact  of  their  being  in  it.  Her  good  humor  was  con- 

*"Tlie  Story  of  Goethe's  Life,"  by  George  Lewes;  "Goethe  and  Schiller, 
Their  Lives  and  Works,"  by  Boyesen. 


38  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

tagious;  she  saw  only  the  sunny  side  of  existence,  and 
she  made  everyone  who  came  in  contact  with  her  share 
her  joyous  philosophy.  She  seems  never  to  have  grown 
old;  even  in  her  later  years  the  charming  ease  and  sym- 
pathetic geniality  of  her  girlhood  never  left  her.  Her 
simple,  hearty,  joyous,  and  aifectioned  nature  endeared 
her  to  all.  She  was  the  delight  of  children,  the  favorite 
of  poets  and  princes.  To  the  last  retaining  her  enthusi- 
a-m  and  simplicity,  mingled  with  great  shrewdness  and 
knowledge  of  character,  "Frau  Aja,"  as  the  puhlic 
fondly  christened  her,  was  at  once  grave  and  hearty, 
dignified  and  simple.  Wieland,  Merck,  Buerger,  Madame 
de  Stael,  Karl  August,  Grand  Duke  of  Weimar,  and  other 
great  j>eople  and  literary  celebrities,  sought  her  acquaint- 
ance; the  Duchess  Amalia  corresponded  with  her  as 
with  an  intimate  friend,  and  her  letters  were  welcomed 
eagerly  at  the  Weimar  Court.  Those  of  her  letters 
which  have  been  preserved  to  us,  show  a  delightful 
sense  of  humor  and  a  healthful,  vigorous  spirit.  After 
a  lengthened  interview  with  her,  an  enthusiast*  (Xico- 
lovi us)  exclaimed:  "Now  do  I  understand  how  Goethe 
has  become  the  man  he  is." 

She  was  only  eighteen  when  the  poet  was  born.  "  I 
and  my  Wolfgang,"  she  said,  "have  always  held  fast  to 
each  other,  because  we  were  both  young  together."  To 
him  she  transmitted  her  love  of  story-telling,  her  animal 
>|iints,  and  her  love  of  seeing  happy  faces  around  her. 
"Order  and  <juiet,"  she  says,  in  one  of  her  charming  let- 
ters to  FreiheiT  von  Stein,  "are  my  principal  character- 
istics. Hence  I  dispatch  at  once  whatever  I  have  to  do, 

• Ephemeriden  der  Literatur. 


ELIXAI:KTII 


the  most  disagreeable  always  first,  and  I  gulp  down  the 
devil  without  looking  at  him.  When  all  has  returned  to 
its  proper  state,  then  1  dciy  anyone  to  surpass  me  in 
good  humor."  Her  heartiness  and  tolerance  are  the 
cau.-es,  she  thinks,  why  everyone  likes  her.  "I  am  fond 
of  i>eople,  and  that  everyone  feels  directly,  young  and  old, 
I  pass  without  pretension  through  the  world,  and  that 
gratifies  men.  I  never  '  bernoralize  '  anyone  —  always 
seek  out  the  good  that  is  in  them,  and  leave  what  is  bad 
to  Him  who  made  mankind,  and  knows  how  to  round  off 
the  angles.  In  this  way  I  make  myself  happy  and  com- 
fortable." Who  does  not  recognize  the  son  in  these 
words?  One  of  the  kindliest  of  men  inherited  his  lov- 
ing, happy  nature  from  one  of  the  heartiest  of  women. 

He  also  inherited  from  her  his  dislike  of  unnecessary 
emotion.  Her  sunny  nature  shrank  from  storms.  When 
her  son  was  dangerously  ill  at  Weimar  (1805),  no  one 
ventured  to  speak  to  her  on  the  subject;  not  until  he 
had  completely  recovered,  did  she  voluntarily  enter  on  it. 
"I  knew  it  all,"  she  remarked,  "but  said  nothing.  Now 
\\e  can  talk  about  him  without  one  feeling  a  stab  every 
time  his  name  is  mentioned."  In  Goethe,  also,  the 
emotive  force  of  mind  was  subject  to  the  intellectual  ;  he 
was  "  king  over  himself." 

All  that  was  beautiful  in  Goethe's  memories  of  child- 
hoo.l  and  early  youth,  naturally  clustered  about  this 
happy,  girlish  mother.  >She  was  a  playmate  and  com- 
panion to  him,  and  the  confidant  of  all  his  boyish 
>orro\vs,  shared  his  youthful  enthusiasm  for  Klopstock, 
whom  the  father  had  placed  on  the  index  of  "  prohibi- 
torum,"  listened,  probably,  with  fond  pride  to  his  own 
improvisations,  and  secretly  took  part  in  his  occasional 
rebellions  against  the  paternal  authority. 


40  THE  EDUCATING  M<>TIII:K. 

This  genial,  indulgent  mother  employed  her  faculty 
for  story-telling  to  his  and  her  own  delight.  "'  Air,  fire, 
earth,  and  water  I  represented  under  the  forms  of  prin- 
cesses, and  to  all  natural  phenomena  I  gave  a  meaning, 
in  which  I  almost  believed  more  fervently  than  my  little 
hearer,  and  when  I  made  a  pause  for  the  night,  promis- 
ing to  continue  the  story  on  the  morrow,  I  was  certain 
that  he  would,  in  the  meanwhile,  think  out  the  issue  for 
himself,  and  so  he  often  stimulated  my  imagination. 
When  1  turned  the  story  according  to  his  plan,  and  told 
him  that  he  had  found  out  its  solution,  he  was  all  fire 
and  flame.  His  grandmother,  who  made  a  great  pet  of 
him,  was  the  confidant  of  all  his  ideas  as  to  how  the 
story  would  turn  out,  and  as  she  repeated  them  to  me, 
and  I  turned  the  story  according  to  these  hints,  I  had 
the  pleasure  of  continuing  it  to  the  delight  and  astonish- 
ment of  Wolfgang,  who  saw  with  glowing  eyes  the  ful- 
fillment of  his  own  conceptions,  and  listened  witli  enthu- 
siastic applause."  What  a  charming  glimpse  of  mother 
and  son  ! 

The  son,  in  return,  throughout  his  long  life  cherished 
the  name  of  his  mother  Avith  tender  regard  and  affection. 
When  he  rose  to  fame,  she  might  well  be  conscious  of 
the  reflected  glory  which  his  greatness  slied  upon  her; 
she  Sympathetically  followed  his  career,  \\as  proud  of  his 
achievements,  but  was  never  surprised  by  them.  She 
kept  open  house  for  all  his  friends,  and  no  one  who 
-too: I  in  any  relation  to  Goethe  could  pass  through 
Frankfort,  \\ithout  stopping  to  pay  his  regards  to  her. 
All  who  had  once  been  under  her  root',  often  men  of  the 
most  opposite  sentiments  and  convictions,  felt  the  charm 
of  her  presence,  and  became  her  staunch  friends  and 
admirers. 


FREDERIC  SCHILLER'S  MOTHER.  41 

In  1768,  Goethe  returned  home  from  Leipsic,  because 
In-  was  broken  in  health.  His  father  showed  him  the 
cold  shoulder,  for  he  wanted  to  see  him  farther  advanced 
in  the  stu<lv  of  jurisprudence;  he  did  not  understand 
that  a  poet's  sphere  is  a  different  one.  Mother  and  sister* 
however,  were  touched  by  the  worn  face,  arid,  woman- 
like, received  him  with  affection  which  compensated  for 
his  father's  coldness.  This  one  had  also  almost  excited 
the  hatred  of  his  other  child,  Cornelia,  by  the  stern, 
pedantic  way  in  which  he  treated  her.  She  secretly  re- 
in lied  against  his  tyranny,  and  made  her  brother  the 
confidant  of  all  her  griefs.  The  poor  mother  had  a  ter- 
rible time  of  it,  trying  to  pacify  the  children,  and  to 
stand  between  them  and  their  father. 

In  1808  she  died,  seventy-seven  years  old.  To  the 
l:i-t  her  love  for  her  son,  and  his  for  her,  had  been  the 
glory  and  sustainment  of  her  happy  old  age.  He  had 
wished  her  to  come  and  live  with  him  at  Weimar ;  but 
the  wish  »»f  old  Frankfort  friends,  and  the  influence  of 
old  habits,  kept  her  in  her  native  city,  where  she  was 
venerated  by  all. 


FREDERIC  SCHILLER'S  MOTHER. 


T7REDERIC  SCHILLER  was  born  1759,  in  Wirtem- 
1  berg,  and  died  1  *<>."),  in  Weimar.  His  mother  was  an 
excellent,  mild-mannered  lady,  tall  of  stature,  and  well  pro- 
portioned, with  a  countenance  full  of  gentleness  and  affec- 
tion. Her  children  all  loved  and  revered  her,  and  the  poet 
who  bore  a  striking  resemblance  to  her,  always  tenderly 
cherished  her  memory.  When  he  was  thirteen  years  old  he 
was  dispatched  to  the  military  seminary,  which  the  Grand 


42  THE  EDUCATING;  MOTHER. 

Duke  of  Wirtemberg-  had,  in  1  770,  established,  and  where 
lie  was  educated  at  the  duke's  e.\]>eiise.  Then  he  saw 
his  mother  DO  more  for  many  year-,  fur  there  were  no 
vacations  in  the  Institute,  and  ladies,  even  mothers,  \\ere 
not  admitted  for  the  sake  of  visits.  Therefore  onlv  a 
scanty  report  is  left  of  her  influence  upon  the  mind  of 
the  poet. 


THE  MOTHER  OF   THE  FRENCH    POET, 
FRANCIS  COFFEE.* 


T7RANCIS  COPPEE,  the  poet,  who  was  recently  ad- 
1  mitted  to  the  National  Academy  of  Arts,  in  Paris, 
gave  the  following  narrative  in  an  address  which  he  de- 
livered in  1885  in  a  ladies'  institute  of  Paris:  "  Your 
teachers  wish  to  make  of  you,  good  house-wives.  This 
seems  to  the  casual  observer,  a  somewhat  simple  under- 
taking, but  I  shall  endeavor  to  explain  to  you  presently 
what  a  multitude  and  what  a  variety  of  merits  are 
needed,  as  I  was  acquainted  with  one  whom  I  tender! v 
loved,  and  who  will  always  seem  to  me  a  model.  She 
lie  wife  of  a  ministerial  officer,  and  had  had  eight 
children,  of  whom  four  were  left  alive,  three  grown  up 
daughters,  and  one  small  son.  What  a  task  to  nourish 
this  little  crowd  with  the  small  salary  of  their  father! 
For  the  mother  wished  to  maintain  her  rank,  to  remain 
a  citizen's  wife  ('une  bourgeoise '),  a  lady!  Well! 
The  courage  and  the  magic  force  of  the  hands  of  the 
excellent  mother  performed  all.  The  girls  had  new 
clothes,  and  the  little  boy  was  always  dressed  neatly.  He 

*ZUrcher  Abend  I 


MOTHER  OF  FRANCIS  COPPEE.  43 

is  still  alive,  the  little  boy  of  that  by-gone  time,  and 
though  forty  years  have  passed  over  him,  he  still  remem- 
lier-  ;i  clonk  of  Scotch  woolen  stuff,  a  master-\\ork  of 
motherly  industry,  of  which  he  was  very  proud,  and 
which  his  school-follows  envied  him.  It  was  astonishing 
what  economy,  patience,  inventive  faculty,  and  activity 
the  irood  lady  exerted,  in  order  that  the  house  and  family 
might  appear  to  her  honor.  When  the  circumstances  of 
the  family  were  such  as  to  admit,  some  relatives  or  friends 
of  the  husband  were  invited  for  tea,  which  the  wife  al- 
ways contrived  to  serve  in  a  graceful  and  becoming 
manner.  To  accomplish  this  she  had  arisen,  like  a 
servant-girl,  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  some- 
times did  a  little  washing,  so  that  her  daughters  had  white 
frills. 

"  But  they  had  also  bad  times.  Towards  the  end  of  the 
month  the  dinner  was  often  scanty  and  meager ;  still  it 
was  always  served  upon  a  bright,  white  table-cloth.  In 
summer-time  rarely  was  a  bouquet  absent  embellishing 
the  room,  and  filling  it  with  sweet  fragrance.  I  could 
ft  11  you  of  the  worthy  laxly  with  the  faithful  heart  and 
industrious  hands  indefinitely.  She  was  always  cheerful. 
When  at  work  she  joked  in  order  to  communicate  to  her 
family  the  confidence  and  energy  with  which  she  over- 
flowed. Nay,  in  the  days  of  great  poverty  she  redoubled 
her  guud  humor,  and  the  residence  where  you  often  would 
not  have  had  an  opportunity  to  make  tinkle  a  dollar  by 
striking  it  on  another,  was  filled  with  songs  early  and 
late. 

"  I  was  witneas  of  this  plain  and  noble  life,  and  believe 
firmly  that  because  I  have  grown  up  near  this  excellent 
lady,  the  flower  of  sentiment  has  risen  in  my  heart  and 


44  Tin:  EIHTATIN<;  "MOTHER. 

i inclination,  and  made  me  a  poet  :  lor  you  have  already 
-ue-sed  rightly,  no  doubt  ;  tin-  little  boy,  who  \\a>  >o 
proud  of  his  Scotch  cloak,  i-  myself." 


MRS.  JAMES  W.  WHITE/ 


MRS.  JAMES  W.  WHITE,  whose  maiden  name 
was  Rhoda  Waterman,  lived  since  1*34  in  New 
York  ( 'ity,  where  her  husband  was  a  distinguished  lawyer. 
From  her  own  accomplished  mother  she  early  learned 
the  science,  not  only  of  the  most  admirable  dome-tie 
economy,  but  of  increasing,  day  after  day,  the  happiness 
of  her  husband,  her  children,  and  her  servants.  She 
alone  was,  the  teacher  of  her  children.  Certain  hours  of 
the  day  were  set  apart  for  study  and  instruction,  with 
which  she  permitted  no  engagement  to  interfere.  In  the 
higher  branches,  and  in  music — for  which  her  children 
had  extraordinary  talent — she  gave  them  lessons,  and 
carefully  superintended  their  practice,  allowing  them  the 
a~i>tance  of  masters  in  foreign  languages.  Idoli/.in^ 
their  mother  as  they  did, they  needed  no  stimulus  luit  her 
love  and  their  own  keen  ap|x-tite  for  knowledge.  Thus 
her  devotedness  and  their  own  loving  /.eal  for  study  were 
rewarded  by  uncommon  proficiency  on  their  part, — every 
one  of  them  laying  the  foundation  of  a  solid  education, 
to  which  were  added  all  the  accomplishments  that  einhcl- 
li-!i  social  life.  "To  what  school  do  you  send  your  chil- 
dren?" was  frequently  asked  by  those  who  wondered  at 
their  progn  —. 

"With  the  careful   training  of  their  mind-,  Mis.  White 


'"Queens  of  American  SJ-iety,"  by  Mrs.  Ellet. 


Mr,?;.  JAMES  W.  WHITE.  t~> 


combined  a  diligent  and  happy  tutoring  of  the  heart; 
and  not  rarely  were  their  domestic  pleasures  made  to 
develop  the  affections  as  well  as  the  mental  powers. 
Home,  festivals  on  birth-night*?,  or  the  return  of  absent 
members  of  the  family,  were  frequently  given,  with  pri- 
vate operatic  or  dramatic  performances  by  the  children, 
dressed  in  appropriate  costume — the  drawing-room  deco- 
rated with  garlands  and  floral  mottoes.  Short  moral 
plays,  written  by  the  mother,  were  frequently  acted  by 
the  little  ones ;  and  their  musical  parts  were  sustained  to 
t  lie  admiration  of  the  friends  who  listened.  Three  of  the 
daughters  possessed  voices  of  extraordinary  purity  and 
power,  and,  with  the  excellent  instruction  they  had  re- 
ceived, were  capable  of  the  highest  vocal  performances. 
Nor  were  these  children  permitted  to  neglect  the  culture 
of  any  useful  art  or  acquirement. 

Mrs.  White's  untiring  activity  was  not  confined  to  the 
education  of  her  children,  and  the  management  of  her 
household.  Even  when  burdened  with  the  care  of  a 
large  young  family,  her  thirst  for  doing  good  constantly 
led  her  to  seek  out  among  the  poorest  classes  of  the  New 
York  population,  and  in  the  most  wretched  haunts,  the 
objects  of  her  sympathy.  To  this  purpose  she  arranged 
private  and  public  concerts,  fairs,  etc.,  etc.  One  of  the 
concerts  at  which  Madame  Sontag  sang,  proved  the  most 
successful  entertainment  of  the  kind  ever  given  in  New 
York. 

One  would  be  led  to  judge  that  these  repeated  labors 
for  public  and  private  charities  must  have  interfered 
sadly  with  the  duties  of  domestic  life.  It  was  not  so, 
however,  in  this  case.  Mrs.  White  all  the  while  con- 
tinued to  superintend  with  unrelaxed  assiduity  the  ad- 


46  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHKI;. 

vanced  education  of  her  children,  studying  with  them, 
and  making  herself  their  companion  as  well  as  instruct- 
ress. She  was  continually  in  their  midst,  perfecting  her- 
self in  some  already  familiar  branch  of  knowledge;  or 
pursuing  some  new  one  with  all  the  ardor  of  youth, 
hearing  the  lessons  of  the  youngest  girl,  encouraging,  by 
her  presence  and  advice,  the  higher  studies  of  her  mar- 
ried daughters,  and  then  giving  herself  up  to  her  own 
appointed  hours  for  self-improvement. 

The  spirit  of  generosity,  derived  from  the  lofty  views 
inculcated  by  their  mother,  not  only  led  the  children  to 
apply  with  alacrity  to  their  advancement  in  knowledge, 
but  to  seize  and  seek  every  opportunity  of  performing 
acts  of  self-denial  for  the  benefit  of  others.  No  oppor- 
tunity was  lost  of  impressing  the  golden  rules  of  life  on 
their  minds.  Few  mothers,  indeed,  understood  as  she 
did  the  importance  of  detail  and  illustration  in  recom- 
mending the  duties  of  life.  It  is  one  thing  to  inculcate 
them  by  theory,  and  another  to  point  out  the  way  to 
practice  them.  With  the  mother's  self-sacrificing  devo- 
tion, and  earnest  perseverance  in  duty,  she  showed  the 
habitual  cheerfulness  and  serenity  of  soul  and  temper  on 
whose  ever  equal  surface  no  interior  trouble  or  external 
tempest  could  produce  a  single  ripple.  This  perpetual 
calm  in  her  manner",  and  the  bright  smile  she  ever  wore 
in  the  most  trying  circumstances,  had  a  better  effect  on 
the  young  spirits  around  her  than  a  thousand  homilies. 
Could  it  then  be  wondered,  not  that  husband  and  chil- 
dren should  "  rise  up  and  call  her  blessed,"  but  that  to 
them,  one  and  all,  a  single  night  spent  outside  of  such  a 
home  should  appear  a  privation  hard  to  bear? 

Home  parties  and   amusements  uf  all  kinds  were  en- 


MRS.  JAMES  W.  WHITE.  47 

couraged.  On  several  occasions  concerts  and  an  entire 
opera  were  performed  without  professional  assistance, 
and  all  spectators  charmed  with  the  wonderful  artistic 
skill  of  the  sons  and  daughters  who  owed  to  the  mother 
their  rare  attainments. 

Her  children,  partaking  of  her  charity,  shared  also  her 
every  good  work  and  undertaking  for  the  poor.  Kate 
De ,  who  lived  in  their  family,  returned  after  her  hus- 
band's death  to  his  family  in  Ireland.  She  was  only 
able  to  read  and  sign  her  name,  and  too  much  ashamed 
of  her  ignorance  to  be  willing  to  betray  it  to  her  proud 
relatives,  she  sought  aid  from  the  three  eldest  daughters 
of  Mrs.  White.  Though  separated  by  the  Atlantic  from 
her,  they  educated  her  entirely  by  letter,  instructing  her 
thoroughly  in  the  common  English  branches,  and  writing 
out  an  entire  grammar,  geography,  and  arithmetic,  adapted 
to  her  comprehension  and  use.  These  she  could  under- 
stand, but  not  the  simplest  school  books;  and  under  this 
training  she  became  a  well-educated  woman. 

How  has  Mrs.  White  still  found  leisure  to  write  books 
or  to  keep  up  an  immense  <•< >rrespondence  by  letter? 
Yet  she  has  done  both.  She  is  author  of  two  popular 
works  ("  Portraits  of  My  Married  Friends,"  and  "  Mary 
Stanton"),  and  she  has  had  an  extensive  correspondence 
with  the  learned,  the  gifted,  and  the  distinguished  in  thi.s 
country  and  in  Europe,  e.  g.,  with  President  Abraham 
Lincoln.  She  may  well  be  called  "  the  Sevigne  "  of  the 
United  States. 

Her  eldest  son,  Gen.  Frank  White,  had  a  military 
career,  and  won  a  renown  the  bravest  could  envy.  None 
of  life's  painful  experiences — and  the  saddest  of  all,  in 
the  death  of  her  husband — have  chilled  her  warm,  loving 


J.s  Tin;  Knr<  ATINC  MOTIIKI;. 


heart.     Her  noble  deeds  are  a  bright   example  tor   her 
countrywomen,  illustrating  the  trutli  of  these  lines: — 

"  We  need  not  go  abroad  for  stones  to  build 
Our  monumental  glory;  every  soul 
Has  in  it  the  material  for  its  temple. " 


^OCRATES  AND  HIS  SON. 


/.    DIALOGUE    OX    THE    MERITS    OP    MOTHERS.* 

OOCRATES  seeing  his  eldest  son,  Lam pr< teles,  ill- 
O  tempered  to  his  mother,  held  this  conversation  with 
him : — 

Sorrntc*.  "Tell  me,  my  son,  do  you  know  some  jwople 
whom  they  call  ungrateful?" 

/,ttinjn-or/rx.  "Most  certainly." 

Six:  "And  have  you  ever  hitherto  considered  whom 
men  stigmatize  by  this  >  name,  and  what  those  do  whom 
people  thus  stigmatize?" 

LIIIII.  "Yes,  for  those  receiving  favors,  when  they 
can  render  thanks  without  doing  so,  are  called  ungrateful." 

Sue.  "Do,  then,  people  not  deem  to  be  right  to  class 
the  ungrateful  ones  among  the  unjust?" 

him.  "I  think  so.' 

SIM:  "And  have  you  ever  ascertained  as  sure  it  is 
unjust  to  reduce  t'rieiids  to  servitude,  so  to  be  just  to  do 
so,  if  the  people  are  hostile?" 

Isim.  "Certainly." 

Sur.  "And  it  seems  tome  that  he  is  ungrateful  who, 
after  having  been  benefited  by  others,  either  friends  or 
enemies,"  not  endeavors  to  return  them  the  favor." 


'Xenophon'a  "  Memorabilia  i >f  Si.craU's,"  Hunk  II,  <  hap.  2. 


SOCRATES  AND  His  SON.  49 

him.  "  Exactly." 

Soc.  "Therefore,  if'  it  is  so,  it  is  palpable  that  in- 
gratitude is  an  act  of  injustice." 

Lam.  "  I  consent." 

Soc.  "And  the  greater  the  benefits  are  which  some- 
body receives,  without  rendering  the  kindness,  the  more 
ungrateful  he  is ;  is  it  not  so  ?" 

Lam.  "  I  agree  also  to  that." 

Soc.  "  Whom,  then,  could  we  find  more  benefited,  and 
by  whom,  than  children  by  parents  ?  To  whom  not  ex- 
isting before,  the  parents  are  the  agency  of  existence,  and 
whom  they  enabled  to  see  so  many  beautiful  objects,  and 
to  participate  of  so  many  good  things,  as  the  gods  give 
to  men,  which,  it  is  well  known,  are  so  valuable  in  every 
point  of  view  that  we  all  fly  most  of  all  to  leave  them 
behind,  and  that  the  governments  decreed  death  for  the 
greatest  offenses,  thinking  that  they  will  not,  in  all  likeli- 
hood, stop  wrong-doing  by  the  fear  of  any  greater  evil? 
Nor  suppose,  my  son,  that  all  men  beget  children  through 
mere  sensuality;  on  the  contrary,  we  are  heedful,  and 
carefully  considering,  from  what  Avomen  the  best  children 
may  be  born  to  us.  And  the  husband  nourishes  the 
wife,  and  provides  to  the  future  children  all  things  he 
thinks  to  l>e  useful  to  them  for  life,  and  those  in  as  great 
an  abundance  as  he  may  be  able.  But  the  wife,  having 
received  the  child  within  herself,  carries  that  burden, 
loaded  and  periled  for  life,  imparts  a  [tart  of  the  nourish- 
ment by  which  she  herself  is  supported,  and  having  car- 
ried it,  with  much  labor  and  her  full  time,  and  brought 
forth  it,  nourishes  it  and  takes  care  of  it,  having  as  yet 
experienced  neither  a  single  advantage,  nor  the  infant 
knowing'  by  whom  it  is  fondly  tended,  nor  being  able  to 
4 


50  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 


give  a  sign  of  what  it  needs,  but  she  herself  guessing  the 
useful  and  agreeable  things  tries  to  satisfy  it,  and  noiir- 
i-lu-s  it  much  time,  and  persevering  in  toils  day  and  ni^lit, 
ignorant  what  return  for  all  she  will  receive.  *  And  it  is 
not  sufficient  only  to  nourish,  but  when  the  children 
seem  to  be  apt  to  learn  some,  whatever  good  rules  the 
parents  themselves-  may  have  for  the  conduct  of  life,  they 
teach  unto  them;  also  what  they  think  another  to  IK- 
fitter  to  teach  them,  they  send  them  to  him,  incurring 
expenses,  and  exercise  an  anxious  care  how  the  children 
become  to  them  as  far  as  possible  the  best." 

Lam.  "  But  if  she  even  all  that  have  done,  and  much 
more  than  that,  still  nobody  could  endure  her  harshness 
of  temper."  * 

Soc.  "  Which  of  two  seems  more  difficult  to  be  borne ; 
the  wild  temper  of  a  beast  or  of  a  mother  ?  " 

Lam.  "I  mean  that  of  the  mother,  at  least  of  such 
an  one." 

Soc.  "  Then  she  gave  you  already,  anyhow,  some 
injury  by  having  either  bitten  or  kicked  you,  as  already 
many  have  suffered  from  beasts  ?  " 

Lam.  "  No,  but  in  very  truth  she  utters  things  which 
one  would  not  wish  to  hear  for  his  whole  life." 

Soc.  ''And  yet,  you,  how  much  trouble,  difficult  to 
endure  irom  a  little  boy,  morose  in  words  and  doings,  do 
you  think  to  have  caused  unto  this  mother,  causiuu-  her 
work,  by  day  and  night,  and  ho\v  much  sorrow  by  your 
illness?" 

Jjinii.  "But  never  did  I  tell  nor  do  her  something 
that  could  call  the  blush  to  her  cheeks." 

II"  speaks  of  Xautippe,  the  wife  of  Socrates  an.l  his  mother.  She  was 
notorious  for  hur  violent  temper. 


AND    HlS    RON.  51 


Soc.  "What  then?  It  seems  to  be  harder  to  you  to 
hear  what  she  says  than  it  is  for  stage-players,  since  in 
tragedies  they  tell  each  other  the  worst  reproaches." 

Lam.  "But  I  believe,  since  they  do  not  think  that 
cither  he  of  the  speakers  who  reviles,  reviles  that  he  may 
injure,  neither  that  the  driver  into  a  corner  drives  in 
order  to  do  some  harm,  they  easily  bear  it." 

Snr.  "But  knowing  well  that,  whatever  mother  says 
to  you,  she  not  only  nothing  bad  thing  intending  says  it, 
but  even  wishing  that  for  you  may  be  so  many  blessings 
a-  for  no  one  else,  you  are  angry  with  her?  Or  do 
you  think  that  she  is  evil  intentioned  to  you?" 

L<iiii.  "  No,  -assuredly,  I  don't  think  that  either." 

>'«'•.  "Do  you  not  say,  then,  that  she  who  is  well- 
wishing  to  you,  and  taking  care  of  you  when  yon  are 
sick  >«»  that  yiii  iM  well  again,  and  that  you  be  wanting 
of  nothing  what  is  conducive,  and  moreover  praying  in 
your  behalf  to  the  gods  for  many  blessings  in  your  be- 
half, and  [laying  oblations  she  has  vowed,  that  she  is 
harsh?  I,  at  least,  think  if  you  cannot  stand  such  a 
mother,  that  you  cannot  stand  blessings.  Tell  me,  to 
\\hom  else  do  you  think  to  be  obliged  to  pay  respect? 
<  h-  :ire  yon  prepared  to  please  nobody,  nor  to  trust  neither 
a  ij-fiieral,  nor  a  chief  magistrate  (Archon;?" 

L<iiii.  "I  would  indeed  endeavor  to  please  them." 

K<><:  "  Would  you  not  also  please  to  the  neighbor 
that  he  might  kindle  you  the  fire,  if  you  want  it,  and 
that  an  assistant  in  the  acquisition  of  good,  and  if  you 
may  have  chanced  to  stumble  in  any  respect,  may  kindly 
lend  aid  to  you  from  near  at  hand?" 

Lam.  "  Certainly  I  would." 

Soc.  "What  then?     Would  it  make  no  difference   to 


52  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

you  that  a  fellow-traveler,  or  fellow-passenger,  or  if  you 
.should  meet  anyone  else  in  any  other  station  of  life,  that 
such  an  one  be  a  friend  or  enemy,  or  would  you  also  take 
rare  of  the  benevolence  proceeding  from  all  them?" 

Lain-.  "I  guess  I  ought  to  care." 

Soc.  "So,  then,  you  are  prepared  to  take  care  of  all 
them,  but  your  mother,  who  of  all  loves  you  most,  von 
think  you  are  not  obliged  to  respect  her?  Do  you  hot 
know  that,  though  the  State  (the  commonwealth)  takes 
no  cognizance  of  any  other  species  of  ingratitude,  nor 
gives  judgment  against,  but  overlooks  those  who  having 
received  favors  not  return  them;  but,  if  someone  does 
not  honor  the  parents,  to  this  the  State  imposes  a  fine, 
and,  rejecting  him,  does  not  permit  him  to  be  an  Archon 
(supreme  magistrate),  thinking  that  the  sacrifice-,  in  be- 
half of  the  State,  would  neither  be  duly  offered,  if  this 
one  were  to  offer  them,  or  to  perform  any  other  noble 
and  just  action?  And,  by  (lod,  if  somebody  not  adorns 
the  graves  of  the  parents,  the  State  examines  into  this 
also  in  the  scrutinies  of  candidates  flu-  magisterial  offices 
You,  then,  O  son,  if  you  are  wise,  pray  all  gods  to  be 
merciful  to  you,  if  you  dishonor  your  mother;  lest,  if  they 
also  recognize  you  to  be  ungrateful,  they  refuse  to  do 
you  good,  and  on  the  other  hand  you  will  have  respei  t 
for  the  opinion  of  mankind;  lest,  when  they  perceive 
that  you  do  not  respect,  your  parents,  they  all  despise 
you,  and  then  yon  appear  in  solitude  of  friends;  for,  it 
they  sin-prise  you  to  be  ungrateful  towards  the  parents 
mine  will  think  that  he,  after  having  done  \oii  a  kindiie.—  . 
will  obtain  from  you  a  grateful  return." 


LETITIA  BONAPARTE,  MOTHER  OF 
EMPEROR  NAPOLEON  I.* 


T  ETITIA  RANIOLINI,  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
J_y  and  accomplished  of  the  young  ladies  of  Corsica,  was 
married  to  Charles  Bonaparte,  a  successful  lawyer  of 
illustrious  descent,  and  of  energetic  mind.  She  had 
thirteen  children;  eight  of  them  survived  to  attain 
majority.  When  the  French  invaded  Corsica,  Bonaparte 
abandoned  the  peaceful  profession  of  law,  and,  grasping 
1 1 is  sword,  united  with  his  countrymen,  under  the  banner 
of  General  Paoli,  to  resist  the  invaders.  His  wife,  Letitia, 
had  then  but  one  child.  She  was  expecting  soon  to  give 
birth  to  another.  Paoli  and  his  band  of  patriots,  de- 
ieated  again  and  again,  were  retreating  before  their  vic- 
torious fi>e.s  into  the  fastnesses  of  the  mountains.  Letitia 
followed  the  fortunes  of  her  husband,  and,  notwithstanding 
the  embarrassment  of  her  condition,  accompanied  him 
on  horseback  in  these  perilous  and  fatiguing  expeditions. 
The  conflict,  however,  was  short.  By  the  energies  of  the 
sword,  Corsica  became  a  province  of  France,  and  the 
Italians,  who  inhabited  the  islands,  became  the  unwilling 
subjects  of  the  Bourbon  throne.  On  the  15th  of  August, 
17ii'.),  in  anticipation  of  her  confinement,  Letitia  had 
taken  refuge  in  her  town  house  at  Ajaccio.  In  the  morn- 
ing of  that  day  she  attended  church,  but,  during  the 
service,  admonished  by  approaching  pains,  she  was  obliged 
suddenly  to  return  home,  and,  throwing  herself  upon  a 
couch,  covered  with  an  ancient  piece  of  tapestry,  she 
gave  birth  to  her  second  son,  Napoleon  Bonaparte.  The 
father  of  Napoleon  died  not  many  years  after  the  birth 

•  "The  History  <>f  Napoleoif  Bonaparte,"  by  John  s.  C.  Al>)>ott. 


54  THE  EDU<  \nv<. 


of  this  child.  M;id;imr  Bonaparte,  by  this  event,  was 
left  a  widow  with  eight  children.  Her  means  were  lim- 
ited, but  her  mental  endowments  were  commensurate 
with  the  weighty  responsibilities  which  devolved  upon 
her.  Her  children  all  appreciated  the  superiority  of  her 
character,  and  yielded,  with  perfect  and  unquestioning 
submission,  to  her  authority. 

Napoleon,  in  particular,  ever  regarded  his  mother  with 
the  most  profound  respect  and  affection.  He  repeatedly 
declared  that  the  family  were  entirely  indebted  to  her 
lor  that  phvsical,  intellectual,  and  moral  training  which 
prepared  them  to  ascend  the  lofty  summits  of  power  to 
which  they  finally  attained.  He  was  so  deeply  im- 
pressed with  the  sense  of  these  obligations  that  he  often 
said  :  "My  opinion  is,  that  the  future  good  or  bad  con- 
duct of  a  child  depends  entirely  upon  its  mother."  One 
of  his  first  acts,  on  attaining  power,  was  to  surround  his 
mother  Avith  every  luxury  which  wealth  could  furnish. 
And  when  placed  at  the  head  of  the  Government  of 
France,  he  immediately  and  energetically  established 
schools  for  female  education,  remarking  that  France 
needed  nothing  so  much  to  promote  its  regeneration  as 
good  mothers. 

"  Left  without  guide,  without  support,"  said  he,  "  my 
mother  was  obliged  to  take  the  direction  of  affairs  upon 
herself,  but  the  task  was  not  above  her  strength.  She 
managed  everything,  provided  for  everything,  with  a 
prudence  which  could  neither  have  been  expected  from 
her  sex  nor  from  her  age.  Ah,  what  a  woman  !  Where 
shall  we  look  for  her  equal?  She  watched  over  us  with 
a  solicitude  unexampled.  Every  low  sentiment,  every 
ungenerous  afiection,  was  discQuraged  and  discarded. 


55 


She  suffered  nothing  but  that  which  was  grand  and  ele- 
vated to  take  root  in  our  youthful  understandings.  She 
abhorred  falsehood,  and  would  not  tolerate  the  slightest 
act  of  disobedience.  None  of  our  faults  were  overlooked. 
Losses,  privations,  fatigue,  had  no  effect  upon  her.  She 
endured  all,  braved  all.  She  had  the  energy  of  a  man, 
combined  with  the  gentleness  and  delicacy  of  a  woman." 
Letitia  Bonaparte  was  a  woman  of  extraordinary  en- 
dowments. She  had  herself  hardly  passed  the  period  of 
childhood,  being  but  nineteen  years  of  age,  when  she 
heard  the  first  wailing  cry  of  Napoleon,  her  second-born, 
and  pressed  the  helpless  babe,  with  thanksgiving  and 
prayer,  to  her  maternal  bosom.  She  was  a  young  mother 
to  train  and  educate  such  a  child  for  his  unknown  but 
exalted  destiny.  She  encircled  in  protecting  arms  the 
imrsmir  babe,  as  it  fondled  a  mother's  bosom  with  those 
little  hands,  which,  in  after  years,  grasped  scepters,  and 
uphove  thrones,  and  hewed  down  armies  with  resistless 
sword.  She  taught  those  infant  lips  "papa,  mamma" — 
those  lips  at  whose  subsequent  command  all  Europe  was 
moved,  and  whose  burning,  glowing,  martial  words  fell 
like  trumpet  tones  upon  the  world,  hurling  nation  upon 
nation  in  the  shock  of  war.  She  taught  those  feeble  feet 
to  make  their  first  trembling  essays  upon  the  carpet, 
rewarding  the  successful  endeavor  with  a  mother's  kiss 
and  a  mother's  caress — those- feet  which  afterwards  strode 
over  the  sands  of  the  desert,  and  waded  through  the 
blood-stained  snows  of  Russia,  and  tottered  in  the  infirm- 
ities of  sickness  and  death  on  the  barren  crags  of  St. 
Helena.  She  instilled  into  the  bosom  of  her  son  those 
elevated  principles  of  honor  and  self-respect  which,  when 
surrounded  by  every  temptation  earth  could  present,  pre- 


56  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

served  him  from  the  degraded  doom  of  the  inebriate,  of 
the  voluptuary,  and  of  the  gamester,  and  which  made  the 
court  of  Napoleon,  when  the  most  brilliant  court  this 
world  has  ever  known,  also  the  most  illustrious  for  the 
purity  of  its  morals,  and  the  decorum  of  its  observance. 

Madame  Bonaparte,  after  the  death  of  her  husband, 
resided  with  her  children  in  their  country  house.  A 
smooth,  sunny  lawn,  which  extended  in  front  of  the  house, 
lured  them  to  their  infantile  sports.  They  chased  the 
butterfly ;  they  played  in  the  little  pools  of  water  with 
their  naked  feet ;  in  childish  gambols  they  rode  upon  the 
back  of  the  faithful  dog,  as  happy  as  if  their  brows  were 
never  to  ache  beneath  the  burden  of  a  crown. 

The  young  Napoleon  loved  to  hear  from  his  mother's 
li]><  the  story  of  her  hardships  and  sufferings,  as,  with 
her  horse  and  the  vanquished  Corsicans,  she  fled  from 
village  to  village,  and  from  fastness  to  fastness  before 
their  conquering  enemies.  The  mother  was  probably  but 
little  aware  of  the  warlike  spirit  she  Was  thus  nurturing 
in  the  bosom  of  her  son,  but  with  her  own  high  mental 
endowments,  she  could  not  be  insensible  to  the  extraor- 
dinary capacities  which  had  been  conferred  upon  the 
silent,  pensive  listener.  "My  mother,"  said  Napoleon  at 
St.  Helena,  "loves  me..  She  is  capable  of  selling  every- 
thing for  me,  even  to  her  last  article  of  clothing." 

The  dignity  of  this  lady  is  illustrated  by  the  fol- 
lowing anecdote:  Soon  after  Napoleon's  assumption  of 
the  imperial  purple,  he  happened  to  meet  his  mother  in 
the  Garden  of  St.  Cloud.  The  emperor  was  surrounded 
with  his  courtier.-,  and  half  playfully  extended  his  hand 
for  her  to  ki.—.  -Not  so,  my  son,"  she  gravely  replied, 
at  the  same  time  presenting  her  hand  in  return,  "it  is 
your  duty  to  kiss  the  hand  of  her  who  gave  you  life." 


LETITIA  BONAPARTE.  57 


A  bachelor  uncle  owned  the  rural  retreat  where  the 
family  of  Madame  Bonaparte  resided.  He  was  very 
wealthy,  but  very  parsimonious.  Whenever  the  young 
Bonapartes  ventured  to  ask  him  for  money,  he  had  none. 
At  last  they  discovered  a  bag  of  doubloons  secreted  on  a 
shelf.  They  formed  a  conspiracy,  and  by  the  aid  of 
their  sister,  Paulina,  who  was  too  young  to  understand 
the  share  which  she  had  in  the  mischief,  they  contrived 
on  a  certain  occasion  when  the  uncle  was  pleading 
poverty,  to  draw  down  the  bag,  and  the  glittering  gold 
rolled  over  the  floor.  The  boys  burst  into  shouts  of 
laughter,  while  he  was  almost  choked  with  indignation. 
Just  at  this  moment  Madame  Bonaparte  came  in.  Her 
presence  immediately  silenced  the  merriment.  She 
severely  reprimanded  her  sons  for  their  improper  behav- 
ior, and  ordered  them  to  collect  again  the  scattered 
doubloons. 

When  France  became  a  republic  (1792),  Corsica  wa< 
re-attached  to  it  as  a  province.  But  the  English  wanted 
also  to  take  |>ossession  of  the  island.  Its  treacherous 
governor,  I'aoli,  sided  with  them; and  endeavored  to  in- 
duce Madame  Bonaparte  and  her  family  to  unite  with 
him  in  the  treasonable  surrender  of  the  island.  "  Resist- 
ance is  hopeless,"  said  he,  "  and  by  your  perverse  oppo- 
sition you  are  bringing  irreparable  ruin  and  misery  on 
yourself  and  family."  "I  know  of  but  two  laws,"  re- 
plied Madame  Bonaparte  heroically,  "  which  it  is  neces- 
.-ary  for  me  to  obey,  the  laws  of  honor  and  of  duty."  A 
decree  was  immediately  passed  banishing  the  family  from 
the  island.  One  morning  Napoleon,  who  was  theji 
twenty-four  years  old,  informed  his  mother  that  several 
thousand  armed  peasants  were  on  the  inarch  to  attack 


58  Tin:  Em<  \TIN<.  MOTHER. 

the  house.  The  family  fled  precipitately  with  such  few 
articles  of  property  as  they  could  seize  at  the  moment, 
and  for  several  days  wandered  houseless  and  destitute  on 
tli«  H  ashore  until  Xapoleon  could  make  arrangements 
for  their  embarkation.  The  house  was  sacked  by  the 
mob,  and  the  furniture  entirely  destroyed.  It  was  mid- 
night when  an  open  lx»at,  manned  by  four  strong  rowers 
with  muffled  oars,  approached  the  shore  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  pillaged  and  battered  dwelling  of  Madame  Letitia. 
A  dim  lantern  was  held  by  an  attendant  as  the  family, 
in  silence  and  in  sorrow,  surrounded  with  poverty  and 
perils  entered  the  boat.  'A  few  trunks  and  baud1 
contained  all  their  available  property.  The  oarsmen 
pulled  out  into  the  dark  and  lonely  sea.  The  emigrants 
soon  ascended  the  sides  of  a  small  vessel  which  was  wait- 
ing for  them  in  the  offing,  and  when  the  niornin. 
arose  over  the  blue  waters  of  the  Mediterranean,  they 
were  approaching  the  harbor  of  Nice.  Here  they 
remained  but  a  short  time,  when  the)7  removed  to  Mar- 
seilles, where  the  family  resided  in  great  pecuniary 
embarrassment  until  in  1799  Xapoleon  was  appointed 
Commander-in-chief  of  the  Army  of  the  Interior,  and  in- 
trustfd  with  th-:-  military  defense-  and  government  of 
.  Immediately  upon  the  attainment  of  this  high 
juisitioii,  h<  hastened  to  Mars-ill'-  i«  jila<-«-  hi.-  mother  in 
a  situation  of  peril-*-!  '-omiort.  And  he  continued  to 
watch  over  her  with  most  filial  assiduity,  proving  himself 
m\  aiK-f-tionau-  and  dutiful  MXL  I-Y^m  this,  hour  the 
whole  family,  mother,  brothers,  and  si~t<  T-,  were  taken 
under  his  protection,  and  all  their  interests  blended  with 
his  own. 

Madame   Bonaparte  died  at  Marseilles   in   the  year 


Ml.-.     x  Id          LN.  59 

• ; 

-   about  a  year  after  the  death  of  her  son  Napoleon. 
.1  of  her  children  were  still  living,  to  each  of  whom 
she  bequeathed  nearly  two  million*  of  dollars. 


MRS.    NANCY    LINCOLN,   MOTHER  OF 
PRESIDENT  ABRAHAM    LINCOLN.* 


M3SL.  NANCY  HANKS,  who  was  married  to  Mr. 
Thomas  Lincoln  in  1806,  was  the  mother  of  Presi- 
dent Abraham  Lincoln.  She  was  a  slender,  pale,  sad, 
and  -i-n-itivc  woman,  with  much  in  her  nature  that  was 
truly  heroic,  and  much  that  shrank  from,  the  rude  life 
around  her.  Her  home  was  a  fanner's  cabin  in  Ken- 
tu'-ky :  it-  <*<Mijnuit>  were  all  humble,  all  miserably  poor. 
Y«  t  it  was  a  home  of  love  and  of  virtue.  Both  father 
an«l  mother  were  religious  persons,  and  sought  at  the 
earliest  moment  to  impress  the  minds  of  their  children 
with  moral  truth.  A  great  man  never  drew  his  infant 
life  from  a  purer  or  more  womanly  bosom  than  was  that 
•  >i  Mr-.  Lincoln;  and  Mr.  Lincoln  always  looked  back 
to  her  with  an  unspeakable  affection.  Long  after  her 
sensitive  heart  and  weary  hands  had  crumbled  into  dust, 
and  had  climbed  to  life  again  in  forest  flowers,  he  said  to 
a  friend,  with  tears  in  hi-  All  that  I  am,  or  hope 

to  be,  I  owe  to  my  angel  mother — blessings  on  her  mem- 
ory." Abraham  and  his  sister  often  sat -at  her  feet  to 
hear  of  scenes  and  deeds  that  roused  their  young  imagi- 
nations, and  fed  their  hungry  minds. 

In    1810,   when  Abraham  was  in   his  eighth   year, 
Thomas  Lincoln  moved  to  Indiana.     The  dwelling  of  the 

-••The  Life  of  Abraham  Lincoln,"  by  J.  G.  Holland. 


60  Tin:  EWTATINC 


family  was  very  homely.  Skins  wen-  hung  at  the  door 
to  !«•<•]>  out  tlic  cold,  and  a  sack  filled  with  dry  leave- 
was  laid  n|H.>n  the  bedstead.  Abraham's  delicate  mother 
IK  nt  to  the  dust  under  the  burden  of  life  which  circum- 
stances had  imposed  upon  her.  A  quick  consumption 
:-ei/.ed  her,  and  her  life  went  out  in  the  flashing  fevers  of 
her  disease.  The  boy  and  his  sister  were  orphans,  and 
the  humble  home  in  the  wilderness  was  desolate.  The 
death  of  Mrs.  Lincoln  occurred  in  1818,  scarcely  two 
vears  after  her  removal  to  Indiana,  and  when  Abraham 
was  in  his  tenth  year.  They  laid  her  to  rest  under  the 
near  the  cabin,  and,  sitting  on  her  grave,  the  little 
boy  wept  his  irreparable  loss.  There  was  probably  none 
but  the  simplest  ceremonies  at  her  burial,  and  Abraham 
and  his  father  both  thought  of  the  good  Parson  Elkin 
whom  they  had  left  in  Kentucky.  Several  months  after 
Mr.-.  Lincoln  died,  Abraham  wrote  a  letter  to  him,  in- 
forming him  of  his  mother's  death,  and  begging  him  to 
conn-  to  Indiana,  and  to  preach  her  funeral  sermon.  It 
was  a  great  favor  that  he  thus  asked  of  the  poor  preacher  ; 
it  would  require  him  to  ride  on  horseba  -k  nearly  a  hun- 
dred miles  through  the  wilderness;  but  still  he  replied 
that  he  would  come.  A  bright  Sunday  morning  he 
came.  The  congregation,  cnmpo-cd  of  the  settlers  of  the 
region,  were  seated  upon  stumps  and  logs  around  the 
grave,  and  the  parson  spoke  of  the  precious  woman  who 
had  gone,  with  the  warm  praise  which  she  deserved, 
and  held  her  up  as  an  example  of  true  womanhood. 

Abraha.ni  Lincoln  was  deeply  impressed  by  all  that  In- 
had  heard.  It  revealed  her  sweet  and  patient  example, 
assiduous  efforts  to  inspire  him  with  pure  and  noble  mo- 
tive-, her  simple  moral  instructions,  her  devoted  love  for 


VOLUMNIA.  61 

him,  and  the  motherly  offices ^he  hud  rendered  him  dur- 
ing all  hi*  tender  years.  His  character  was  planted  in 
this  mother's  lift-.  Its  roots  were  fed  by  this  mother's 
love;  and  those  who  have-  wondered  at  the  truthfulness 
and  earnestness  of  his  mature  character,  have  only  to 
remember  that  the  tree  was  true  to  the  soil  from  which  it 
sprung. 


VOLUMNIA,  MOTHER  OF  CORIOLANUS.* 


AliOUT  495  B.  c.,  there  was  a  famine  at  Rome,  and 
grain  arriving  from  Sicily,  Caius  Marcius,  surnamed 
( Wiolanus,  for  the  honor  to  have  taken  the  city  of  Corioli, 
would  not  sell  any  to  the  Roman  people,  unless  they 
would  submit  to  the  patricians.  Thereupon  the  Tribunes 
sought  to  bring  him  to  trial,  but  he  fled  to  the  Volsei. 
Soon  after  he  returned  at  the  head  of  a  great  army,  and 
laid  siege  to  Rome/  The  city  was  in  peril.  As  a  final 
resort,  his  mother,  wife,  and  children,  with  many  of  the 
chief  women,  clad  in  deepest  mourning,  went  forth,  and 
fell  at  his  feet.  Unable  to  resist  their  entreaties,  Corio 
lanns  exclaimed,  "Mother,  thou  hast  saved  Rome,  but 
lo>t  thy  son."  Having  given  the  order  to  retreat,  he  is 
>aid  to  have  been  slain  by  the  angry  Volsci. 
PERSONS  OF  THE  SCENE. 

THUH*  Aijjulinx,  general  of  the  Volscians. 

<'<I'HI.<  Ma/riii-i  i'oriolnnii.1,  a  noble  Roman. 
Vinjiliii^  his  wife.  }         in 

Volumtiiarf  his  mother,  leading  young  Marcius.   >  mourning 
',  friend  of  Yirgilia.  )      habits. 

Attendants  and  others. 

'Shakespeare;  "  Coriolanus,''  Ac-t  V,  Scene  III. 

t According  to  Plutarch,  whose  biography  of  C.  M.  Coriolanus  Shakespeare 

followed  in   his  admirable  tragedy,  the  name  of  Coriolanus'  mother 

was  Voluuiiiia;  that  of  hi*  wife,  Yirgflia.     Dionysius,  of  Hali.-ainussus,  and 

Livj  ,  tall  his  mother  Vt-turia,  and  his  wife,  Yoluimiia,  and  so  do  the  moderu 

historians  following  the  authority  of  those  two  Roman  writers. 


62  TJII-.  EDUCATING  MOTIII.R. 

Coriolanus.  My  wife  comes  foremost ;  then  the  honorM 

mould 

Wherein  (his  trunk  was  fram'd,  and  in  her  hand 
The  grandchild  to  her  blood.     But,  out,  atiection! 
All  bond  and  privilege  of  nature  break  ! 
Let  it  be  virtuous  to  be  obstinate. — - 
What  is  that  eourt'sy  worth  ?  or  those  dove's  eyes, 
Which  can  make  gods  forsworn? — I  melt,  and  am  not 
()('  stronger  earth  than  others. — My  mother  bows, 
As  if  Olympus  to  a  molehill  should 
In  supplication  nod;  and  my  young  boy 
Hath  an  aspect  of  intercession,  which 
Gi'eat  nature  cries,  l>> mj  not. — Let  the  Volsces 
1'low  Rome  and  harrow  Italy;  I'll  never 
Be  such  a  gosling  to  obey  instinct;  but  stand, 
As  if  a  man  were  author  of  himself, 
And  knew  no  other  kin. 

\'ii-</!/!(i.  My  lord  and  husband! 

Cor.  These  eyes  are  not  the  same  I  wore  in  Rome. 

Vir.  The  sorrow  that  delivers  us,  thus  changed, 
Makes  you  think  so. 

Cor.  Like  a  didl  actor  now, 
I  have  forgot  my  part,  and  I  am  out, 
Jv.cn  to  a  full  disgrace.     Best  of  my  flesh, 
Forgive  my  tyranny ;  but  do  not  say, 
For  that,  "  Forgive  our  Romans." — Oh,  a  kiss 
Long  as  my  exile,  sweet  as  my  revenge. 
Now,  by  the  jealous  queen  of  heaven,*  that  kiss 
1  carried  from  tliee,  dear,  and  my  true  lip 
Hath  virgin'd  it  e'er  since. — You  gods,  I  prate, 
And  the  most  noble  mother  of  the  world 
Leave  unsalutcd  ;  sink,  my  knee,  i'  the  earth;          [kneel*. 
Of  thy  deep  duty  more  impres.-ion  show 
Than  that  of  common  sons. 

Votmiiina.  O,  stand  up,  bless'd! 
Whilst,  with  no  softer  cushion  than  the  flint, 

'The  goddess  Juno. 


VOLUMNIA.  63 

I  kneel  before  thee,  and  improperly* 
Slum-  duty,  us  mistaken  all  the  while 
Between  the  child  and  parent. 

('<>,:   What  is  this? 

Your  kneed  to  me  ?  to  your  corrected  son  ? 
Then  let  the,  pebbles  on  the  hungryf  beach 
Filip  the  star;  then  let  the  mutinous  winds 
Strike  the  proud  cedars  'gainst  the  fiery  sun ; 
Murd'ring  impossibility,  to  make 
What  cannot  be,  slight  work. 

Vol.  Thou  art  my  warrior; 
I  holp  to  frame  thee.     Do  you  know  this  lady  ? 

Cor.  The  noble  sister  of  Publicola,;|; 
The  moon  of  Rome ;  chaste  as  the  icicle 
That's  curded  by  the  frost  from  purest  snow, 
And  hangs  on  Dian's  Temple — dear  Valeria. 

Vol.  This  is  a  poor  epitome  of  yours, 
Which  by  the  interpretation  of  full  time 
May  show  like  all  yourself. 

Cor.  The  god  of  soldiers, 
With  the  consent  of  supreme  Jove,§  inform 
Thy  thoughts  with  nobleness ;  that  thou  mayst  prove 
To  shame  invulnerable,  and  stick  i'  the  Avars 
Like  a  great  sea-mark,  standing  every  flaw,|| 
And  saving  those  that  eye  thee. 

Vol.  Your  knee,  sirrah. 

Cor.  That's  my  brave  boy. 

Vol.  Even  he,  your  wife,  this  lady  and  myself, 
Are  suitors  to  you. 

<  'or.  I  beseech  you,  peace; 
Or,  if  you'd  ask,  remember  this  before; 
The  things  I  have  forsworn  to  grant  may  never 
Be  held  by  you  denials.     Do  not  bid  me 

•  Unwomanly. 

tSterile. 

{The  scheme  to  solicit  Coriolanus  was  originally  proposed  by  Valeria. 

§Jupiter  was  the  tutelar  god  of  Home. 

II  Every  violent  blast  of  wind . 


64  Tin:  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 


M  iy  ,-oldieis,  or  capitulate 
Again  with  Home's  mechanics  ;  —  tell  me  not 
Wherein  I  seem  unnatural;  —  desire  not 
To  allay  my  rages  and  revenue?,  with 
Your  colder  reasons. 

Vol.  O,  no  more,  no  more! 
You  have  said  you  will  not  grant  us  anything  ; 
For  we  have  nothing  else  to  ask,  but  that 
Which  you  deny  already.     Yet  we  will  ask  ; 
That,  if  you  fail  in  our  request,  the  blame 
May  hang  upon  your  hardness;  therefore,  hear  us. 

Cor.  Aufidius,  and  you,  Volsces,  mark  ;  for  we'll 
Hear  naught  from  Rome  in  private.  —  Your  request? 

Vol.  Should  we  be  silent  and  not  speak,  our  raiment, 
And  state  of  bodies,  would  bewray  what  life 
We  have  had  since  thy  exile.     Think  with  thyself, 
How  more  unfortunate  than  all  living  women 
Are  we  come  hither,  since  that  thy  sight,  which  should 
Make  our  eyes  flow  with  joy,  hearts-dance  with  comforts, 
(  '(distrains  them  weep,  and  shake  with   fear  and   sorrow; 
Making  the  mother,  wife,  and  child,  to  see 
The  son,  the  husband,  and  the  father,  tearing 
His  country's  bowels  out.     And  to  poor  we, 
Thine  enmity's  most  capital  ;  thou  barr'st  us 
Our  prayers  to  the  gods,  which  is  a  comfort 
That  all  but  we  enjoy;  for  how  can  we, 
Alas!  how  can  we,  for  our  country  pray, 
Whereto  we  are  bound;  together  with  thy  victory, 
Whereto  we  are  bound  ?     Alack  !  or  we  must  lose 
The  country,  our  dear  nurse,  or  else  thy  person, 
Our  comfort  in  the  country.     We  must  tiud 
An  evident  calamity,  though  we  had 
Our  wi.-h  which  side  should  \\iii;  lor  either  thou 
Must,  as  a  foreign    recreant,  be  led 
With  manacles  through  our  st  reets,  or  else 
Triumphantly  tread  on  thy  country's  ruin, 
And  bear  the  palm  for  having  bravely  shed 
Thy  wife's  and  children's  blood.      For  myself,  son, 
1  propose  not  to  wait  on  fortune,  till 


VOLUMXIA.  (').") 

These  Avars  determine;  it'  I  cannot  persuade  thee 
Rather  to  show  a  noble  grace  to  both  parts, 
Than  seek  the  end  of  one,  thou  shalt  no  sooner 
March  to  assault  thy  country,  than  to  tread 
(Trust  to  't,  thou  shalt  not)  on  thy  mother's  womb, 
That  brought  thee  to  this  world. 

Vlr.  Ay,  and  on  mine, 

That  brought  you  forth  this  boy,  to  keep  your  name 
Living  to  time. 

Boy.  He  shall  not  tread  on  me ; 
I'll  run  away  till  I  am  bigger,  but  then  I'll  fight. 

Cor.  Not  of  a  woman's  tenderness  to  be, 
Requires  nor  child  nor  woman's  face  to  see. 
I  have  sat  too  long.  [m/wr/- 

Yol.  Nay,  go  not  from  us  thus. 
If  it  were  so,  that  our  request  did  tend 
T<>  save  the  Romans,  thereby  to  destroy 
The  Volsccs  wl loiu  you  serve,  you  might  condemn  us, 
As  poisonous  of  your  honor;  no;  our  suit 
Is,  that  you  reconcile  them ;  while  the  Volsces 
May  say,  "  This  mercy  we  have  show'd;"  the  Romans, 
"  This  we  receiv'd  ; "  and  each  in  either  side 
Give  the  all-hail  to  thee,  and  cry,  "  Be  bless'd 
For  making  up  this  peace ! "     Thou  know'st,  great  son, 
The  end  of  war's  uncertain;  but  this  certain, 
That,  if  thou  conquer  Rome,  the  benefit 
Which  thou  shalt  thereby  reap,  is  such  a  name 
Whose  repetition  will  be  dogg'd  with  curses; 
Whose  chronicle  thus  writ, — "The  man  was  noble, 
But,  with  his  last  attempt,  he  wiped  it  out ; 
Destroy'd  his  country,  and  his  name  remains 
To  the  ensuing  age,  abhorr'd."     Speak  to  me,  son ; 
Thou  hast  affected  the  fine  strains  of  honor, 
To  imitate  the  graces  of  the  gods ; 
To  tear  with  thunder  the  wide  cheeks  o'  the  air, 
And  get  to  charge  the  sulphur  with  a  bolt 
That  should  but  rive  an  oak.     Why  dost  not  speak  ? 
Think'st  thou  it  honorable  for  a  nobleman 
Still  to  remember  wrong  V — Daughter,  speak  you ; 
5 


66  THE  EDUCATING  MOTIIU:. 

He  cares  not  for  your  weeping. — Speak  thou,  boy ; 
Perhaps  thy  childishness  will  move  him  more 
Than  can  our  reasons. — There  is  no  man  in  the  world 
More  bound  to  his  mother;  yet  here  he  lets  me  prute, 
Like  one  i'  the  stocks.*     Thou  hast  never  in  thy  lilt- 
Showed  thy  dear  mother  any  courtesy ; 
When  she  (poor  hen ! )  fond  of  no  second  brood, 
Has  cluck'd  thee  to  the  wars,  and  safely  home, 
Laden  with  honor.     Say,  my  request's  unjust, 
And  spurn  me  back ;  but,  if  it  be  not  so, 
Thou  art  not  honest ;  and  the  gods  will  plague  thee, 
That  thou  restrain'st  from  me  the  duty  which 
To  a  mother's  part  belongs. — He  turns  away ; — 
Down,  ladies ;  let  us  shame  him  with  our  knees. 
To  his  surname,  Coriolanus,  'longs  more  pride, 
Than  pity  to  our  prayers.     Down ;  an  end ; — 
This  is  the  last ; — so  we  will  home  to  Rome, 
And  die  among  our  neighbors. — Nay,  behold  us ; — 
This  boy,  that  cannot  tell  what  he  would  have, 
But  kneels,  and  holds  up  hands  for  fellowship, 
Does  reason  our  petition  with  more  strength 
Than  thou  hast  to  deny't. — Come,  let  us  go ; 
This  fellow  had  a  Volsciau  to  his  mother ; 
His  wife  is  in  Corioli,  and  his  child 
Like  him  by  chance ; — yet  give  us  our  dispatch. — 
I  am  hush'd  until  our  city  be  afire, 
And  then  I'll  speak  a  little. 
Cor.  O,  mother,  mother ! 

[holding  Volumnia  by  the  liand, 
What  have  you  done?     Behold,  the  heavens  do  ope. 
The  gods  look  down,  and  tins  unnatural  scene 
They  laugh  at.  .  O,  my  mother,  mother !  O ! 
You  have  won  u  happy  victory  to  Rome; 
But  for  your  son, — believe  it,  O,  believe  it, 
Most  dangerously  you  have  with  him  prevail'd, 
If  not  most  mortal  to  him.     But  let  it  come ; — 

*Keeps  me  iu  a  state  of  ignominy,  talking  to  no  purpose     The  stocki  were 
a  frame  in  which  feet  and  hands  of  criminals  were  confined. 


07 


Aufidius,  though  I  cannot  make  true  wars, 
I'll  frame  convenient  peace.     Now,  good  Aufidius, 
Were  you  in  my  stead,  say,  would  you  have  heard 
A  mother  less  ?  or  granted  less,  Aufidius  ? 

Auf.  I  was  inov'd  withal. 

Cor.  I  dare  be  sworn,  you  were. 
And,  sir,  it  is  no  little  thing,  to  make 
Mine  eyes  to  sweat  compassion.     But,  good  sir, 
What  ]H'aee  you'll  make,  advise  me;  for  my  part, 
I'll  not  to  Rome,  I'll  back  with  you  ;  and,  pray  you, 
Stand  to  me  in  this  cause.  —  O,  mother,  wife  ! 

Attf.  I  am  glad,  thou  hast  set  thy  mercy  and  thy  honor 
At  difference  in  thee!  out  of  that  I'll  work 
A  I  v  si  •!  f  a  former  fortune.  [a$i<  I  <'.'•'• 

[The  ladies  wake-  xlt/ii*  to  CoriofaniM, 

Cor.  Ay,  by  and  by;  [to  Vo/itiiniia,  VirgiUa,  etc. 

Hut  we  will  drink  together;  and  you  shall  bear 
A  I  letter  witness  back  than  words,  which  we, 
On  like  conditions,  will  have  counter-sealed. 
(  'oine,  enter  with  us.     Ladies,  you  deserve 
To  have  a  temple  built  you;f  all  the  swords 
In  Italy,  and  her  confederate  arms, 
(  'oiild  .not  have  made  this  peace.  [exeunt. 


HEDWIG,  MOTHER  OF   THE  CHILDREN 
OF  WILLIAM  TELL.J 


HPHE  aboriginal  cantons,  Schwyt/,  Uri,  and  Unterwald, 
1    lived  directly  under  the  protection  of  the  German 
Empire.     But    Emperor  Albert  wanted    them    to  sub- 
mit to  the  dominion  of  his  dynasty.     When  they  declined 

'Aufidius  was  Commander-in-Chief  of  the  Volscians,  before  Coriolanus 
deserted  to  them ;  lie  will  take  advantage  of  this  concession  of  Coriolanua  to 
restore  himself  to  his  former  power. 

t  Plutarch  informs  iu  that  a.  temple  dedicated  to  the  Fortune  of  the  La- 
tliex,  was  built,  on  this  occasion,  by  order  of  the  Senate. 

{  "William  Tell,"  by  Fr.  Schiller;  translated  by  Th.  Martin. 


THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 


to  do  so,  he  appointed  Austrian  governors  for  their 
country,  who  oppressed  them.  Gessler,  one  of  them,  set 
up  (about  1307)  a  hat  in  the  market-place  at  Altdorf,  in 
Canton  Uri,  and  commanded  all  to  bow  to  it  in  homage. 
William  Tell,  passing  by  with' his  little  son,  refused  this 
obeisance.  Brought  before  Gessler,  he  was  doomed  to 
die  unless  he  could  shoot  an  arrow  through  an  apple 
placed  on  his  boy's  head.  Tell  pierced  the  apple,  but 
the  tyrant,  noticing  a  second  arrow  concealed  in  his  belt, 
asked  its  purpose.  "  Fbr  thee,"  was  the  reply,  "  if  the 
first  had  struck  iny  son."  Enraged,  Gessler  ordered  him 
to  a  prison  upon  the  opposite  shore  of  the  lake.  While 
crossing,  a  storm  arose,  and  in  the  extremity  of  the  dan- 
ger Gessler  unloosed  Tell,  hoping  by  his  skill  to  reach 
the  land.  As  they  neared  the  rocky  shore,  Tell  leaped 
out,  and,  hiding  in  the  glen,  shot  Gessler  as  he  passed. 

ACT  III,  SCENE    I. 

PERSONS  OF  THE  SCENE. 
William  Tell. 
Hedwifj,  his  wife. 

Willidin  }  Their  sons'  Playin§  with  a  little  cross-bow- 

[Tell  takes  MX -cap. 
Hedw.  Whither  away? 
Tell.  To  Altdorf,  to  your  father. 

[Tell  takes  up  his  cross-box'  <in<l  m-row*. 
Hedw.  Why  take  your  cross-bow  with  you  ?     Leave  it 

here. 
T'H.   \  want  my  right  hand,  when  I  want  my  bow. 

[The  boy*  ri'tiini. 

W<iH.  Where,  father,  are  you  going? 
Tfil.  To  grand-dad,  boy — 
To  Altdorf.     Will  you  go? 
Walt.  Ay,  that  I  \\ill! 


HEDWIG.  69 

Hedw.  The  Viceroy's  there  just  now.     Go  not  to  Alt- 

dorf! 

Tell.  He  leaves  to-day. 
Hedn:  Then  let  him  first  be  gone. 
( Ws  not  his  path.     You  know  he  bears  us  gnidge. 
O  stay  away  to-day.     (Jo  hunting  rather! 
7V//.   What  do  you  fear? 
ff/ihr.  I  am  uneasy.     Stay. 

Tell.   Why  thus  distress  yourself  without  a  cause? 
Hedn\  Because  there  is  no  cause.     Tell,   Tell,   stay 

hero. 

Tell.  Dear  wife,  I  gave  me  promise  I  would  go. 
Hedw.  Must  you — then  go.     But  leave  the  boys  with 

me. 
Walt.  No,  mother  dear,  I'm  going  with  my  father. 

•.  How,  Walter!     Will  you  leave   your  mother 
then? 
.  I'll  bring  you  pretty  things  from  grandpapa. 

[exit  with  hisfatlier. 
II  'if/i.  Mother,  I'll  stay  with  you. 
Hedw.  [cmbni'-iiii/  ////«.]  Yes,  yes,  thou  art 
My  own  dear  child.     Thou'rt  all  that's  left  to  me. 

[sJie  goes  to  the  gate  of  the  court,  and  looks  anxiously 
after  Tell  and  her  son  for  a  considerable  time. 

ACT  IV,  SCENE  II. 

Baronial  mansion  of  Attinghausen.  The  Baron  upon  a 
much  dying.  Walter  Furst  (Hedwig's  father),  Stauffa- 
cher  of  Schwytz,  Melchthal  and  Baumgarten  of  Unter- 
wald  attending  around  him.  Walter  Tell  kneeling  be- 
fore the  dying  man. 
/•'///•.-•/.  All  now  is  over  with  him.-  He  is  gone. 

[Ifaumgarten  goes  to  the  door  and  speaks  with  someone. 
Furst.  Who's  there?  [she  insists 

Baumgarten.  [returning']  TelPs  wife,   your   daughter, 

That  she  must  speak  with  you,  and  see  her  boy. 

[  Walter  Tell  rises. 
l-'tir.«t.  T  who  need  comfort — can  I  comfort  her? 

Does  every  sorrow  center  on  my  head? 


70  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

Hedw.  [forcing  her  way  iii] 
Where  is  my  child  ?     Unhand  me !     I  must  see  him. 

Sta-uff.  Be  calm !     Reflect  you're  in  the  house  of  death ! 

Hedw.  [falling  upon  her  boy's  neck'] 
My  Walter !     Oh,  he  yet  is  mine ! 

Walt.  Dear  mother! 

Hedw.  And  is  it  surely  so  ?     Art  thou  unhurt  ? 

[gazing  at  him  with  anxious  tenderness. 
And  is  it  possible  he  aim'd  at  thee? 
How  could  he  do  it?     Oh,  he  has  no  heart — 
And  he  could  wing  an  arrow  at  his  child!  [it. 

Furst.  His  soul  was  rack'd  with  anguish  when  he  did 
No  choice  was  left  him  but  to  shoot  or  die! 

Hedw.  Oh,  if  he  had  a  father's  heart,  he  would 
Have  sooner  perish'd  by  a  thousand  deaths ! 

Stauff.  You  should  be  grateful  for  God's  gracious  care 
That  ordered  things  as  well. 

Hedw.  Can  I  forget 

What  might  have  been  the  issue?     God  of  Heaven! 
Were  I  to  live  for  centuries,  I  still 
Should  sec  my  boy  tied  up, — his  father's  mark, — 
And  still  the  shaft  would  quiver  in  my  heart! 

Melch.  You  know  not  how  the  Viceroy  taunted  him ! 

Hedw.  Oh,  ruthless  heart  of  man !  Offend  his  pride, 
And  reason  in  his  breast  forsakes  her  seat; 
In  his  blind  wrath  he'll  stake  upon  a  cast 
A  child's  existence  and  a  mother's  heart ! 

ACT  V,  SCENE  II. 

Interior  of  Tcll's  cottage.     A  fire  burning  on  the'  he<uili. 

The  open  door  shows  the  scene  outside.     Hedwig,  Walter 

and  Wilhclm. 

Hedw.  Boys,  dearest  boys!  your  father  comes  to-day, 
He  lives,  is  free,  and  AVC  and  all  are  free ! 
The  country  owes  its  liberty  to  him ! 

Walt.  And  I,  too,  mother,  bore  my  part  in  it. 
J  shall  be  named  with  him.     My  father's  shaft 
Went  closely  by.  my  life,  but  yet  I  shook  not. 


HEDWIG.  71 

Hedw.  [embracing  him] 
Yes,  yes,  thou  art  restored  to  me  again ! 
Twice  have  I  given  thee  birth,  twice  suffer'd  all 
A  mother's  agonies  for  thee,  my  child ! 
But  this  is  past — I  have  you  both,  boys,  both ! 
And  your  dear  father  will  be  back  to-day. 

[a  monk  appears  at  the  door. 

Wilh.  See,  mother,  yonder  stands  a  holy  friar; 
He's  asking  alms,  no  doubt. 

Hedw.  Go,  lead  him  in, 

That  we  may  give  him  cheer,  and  make  him  feel 
That  he  has  come  into  the  house  of  joy. 

[exit  and  returns  immediately  with  a,  cup. 

Wilh.  [to  the  monk'] 
Come  in,  good  man.     Mother  will  give  you  food. 

Walt,  [springs  up]  Mother,  my  father ! 

Hedw.  O  my  God ! 

\is  about  to  follow,  trembles,  and  stops. 

Wilh.  [running  after  hie  brother]  My  father! 

Walt,  [without]  Thou'rt  here  once  more. 

Wilh.  [without]  My  father,  my  dear  father ! 

Tell,  [without] 
Yes,  here  I  am  once  more.     Where  is  your  mother? 

[they  enter. 

Walt.  There  at  the  door  she  stands,  and  can  no  further, 
She  trembles  so  with  horror  and  with  joy. 

Tell.  O  Hedwig,  Hedwig,  mother  of  my  children ! 
God  has  been  kind  and  helpful  in  our  woes. 
No  tyrant's  hand  shall  e'er  divide  us  more. 

Hedw.  [falling  on  his  nec1c\ 

0  Tell,  what  have  I  suffered  for  thy  sake ! 
Tell.  Forget  it  now,  and  live  for  joy  alone. 

I'm  here  again  with  you !     This  is  my  cot ! 

1  stand  again  on  mine  own  hearth ! 

Wilh.  But  father, 
Where  is  your  cross-bow  left?     I  see  it  not 

Tell.  Nor  shalt  thou  ever  see  it  more,  my  boy. 
It  is  suspended  in  a  holy  place, 
And  in  the  chase  shall  ne'er  be  used  again. 


72  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

Hedw.  O  Tell,  Tell! 

[sfcji.<i   lxicL\  (Ifo/i/lill'l   //As   ll'ill'l. 

Till.    What  alarms  thee,  dearest  wife? 

Hedu'.  How — how  dost  thou  return  to  me.     This  hand 
Dare  I  take  hold  of  it  ?     This  hand— ( )  God ! 

Tell,  [with  firm  HC**  "//'/  aroma&on] 
Has  shielded  you,  and  set  my  country  free; 
Freely  I  raise  it  in  the  face  of  Heaven. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  JOSEPH  HAYDN, 

THE  CELEBRATED  GERMAN 

COMPOSER.* 


IN  the  almost  unknown  hamlet  of  Rohrau,  situated  <>n 
the  frontier  of  Hungary  awl  Austria,  a  few  miles 
from  Vienna  distant,  there  once  lived  a  poor  wheelwright 
named  Haydn,  a  humble  man  of  no  particular  mark, 
hut  possessed  of  the  usual  German  passion  for  music. 
The  organ  was  his  favorite  instrument,  though  he  could 
play  on  the  violin.  Among  his  children  was  a  hoy  called 
Joseph.  He  was  born  in  March,  1782,  and  at  the  time 
this  story  begins  was  three  years  old.  Now,  as  the  good 
artisan,  in  spite  of  his  industry,  often  was  in  want  of 
work,  in  the  distant  village,  he  resolved  to  do  like  so 
many  others,  and  to  set  out  on  Sundays  and  holy-days, 
in  order  to  make  music,  with  his  wife,  on  the  road  or  in 
t lie  tavern.  The  father  played  then  the  violin,  and  tin- 
mother  accompanied  him  on  the  harp  and  with  her  songs. 
She  had  a  sweet,  pure  voice,  and  sang  the  simple  old 
German  songs  with  feeling  and  expression.  We  do  not 
know  what  the  songs  were.  They  may  have  been  mere 


"The  Tone  Masters,  Handel  &  Haydn,"  by  Charles  Barnard:   "  Mojsart, 
the  Life  of  an  Artist,"  hy  llcribert  Ran.  vol.  -2 


MOTHER  OF  JOSEPH  HADW.  73 

country  ballads,  and  sonic  airs  not  .suited  to  the  hour. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  to  the  boy  his  mother  was  an  angel 
singing  .heavenly  airs.  But  to  sit  idle  while  his  mother 
sanir  did  not  meet  his  infantile  views  of  music.  The  trio 
must  become  complete.  He,  the  small  boy,  must  unite 
Avith  the  grown  folks  in  the  performance.  He  could  not 
sing  "or  plavon  any  instrument.  A  little  board  propped 
on  (lie  neck,  just  like  a  violin,  and  a  little  stick  used  as 
a  bow,  made  his  instrument,  and  with  his  dumb  music 
he  joined  in  the  nowcompletequartette.  Week  after  week 
the  silent  iiddlc  scraped  through  the  music.  Nobody 
laughed,  though  it  was  really  a  very  funny  sight — amus- 
ing, perhaps,  to  us,  but  to  the  child  and  his  parents 
downright  earnest. 

One  Sunday  afternoon  the  school-master  of  the  near 
town,  Ilaimhurg,  chanced  to  pass  by  at  the  concert.  He 
was  much  pleased  with  the  music  of  the  parents,  but  the 
child,  only  three  years  old,  excited  even  more  his  atten- 
tion. He  did  not  laugh  at  the  child,  for  there  was  some- 
thing quite  wonderful  about  the  mock  violin.  The  time 
marked  by  the  boy's  wooden  bow  was  as  exact  as  a 
watch.  Tie  paused  when  the  father  paused,  and  the 
mot  her  sang  solo,  and  then  fell  in  again  precisely  with 
the  father.  Verily  there  must  be  music  in  the  child. 

This  teacher,  who  is  now  only  known  as  Frank,  was 
a  musician  of  some  merit.  When  the  boy  was  five  years 
old.  he  suggested  to  his  father  that  the  talent  of  the  child 
should  be  cultivated,  and  offered  to  take  him  home  with 
him  to  his  own  town  of  Haimburg,  and  instruct  him  in 
music.  The  parents  consented,  and  the  little  fellow  set 
out  for  Haimburg  and  music.  Instruction  in  singing, 
upon  the  violin  and  other  instruments,  and  in  Latin,  was 


74  Tin;  Knrr.vnN*;  MOTHER. 


here  given  to  him,  something  his  father's  humble  cir- 
cumstances would  never  have  enabled  him  to  procure. 
Frank  used  him  like  his  own  child.  The  boy'»  style  of 
singing  in  the  church  choir  every  Sunday  attracted  the 
attention  of  musical  people  who  heard  him. 

When  he  was  two  years  in  Haimburg  the  imperial 
organist,  Kenter,  who  \vas  also  leader  of  the  orchestra  in 
the  Cathedral  of  Vienna,  paid  a  visit  to  the  dean  in 
Ilaiiuhiirg.  The  priest  liked  the  boy,  and  as  he 
had  a,  good  voice,  and  sang  correctly,  he  recommended 
him  to  the  music  director.  He  was  examined,  and  Mr. 
Renter  took  him,  after  having  deliberated  with  his  par- 
ents, to  Vienna,  in  order  to  sing  as  clio/i  :cr  in  the  ca- 
t  lied  nil.  And  now  began  little  Joseph's  lite  of  trial,  study, 
and  labor  in  his  favorite  art,  till,  after  many  years  of 
toil,  privation,  and  want,  he  became  one  of  the  greatest 
composers  of  Germany,  who  gained  immortal  glory  by 
his  oratorio,  "The  Creation.'' 


SOPHIE  HUGO,  MOTHER  OF  VICTOR 

HUGO,  THE  GREATEST  FRENCH 

POET    IN  OUR  CENTURY.* 


TOSKPII  HUGO,  the  father  of  Victor  Hugo,  was  tirst 
u  captain,  later  general,  in  the  French  army.  He  set. 
his  children  a  fine  example  of  duty,  being  ever  their 
instructor  in  the  paths  of  honor. 

Madame  Sophie  Hugo,  their  mother,  was  the  daughter 
of  a  wealthy  ship-owner  at  Nantes,  and  a  cousin  of 
Constantin  Francois,  Count  de  Chasseboeuf,  universally 

"  Victor  HuL'o  and  Hia  Time,"  by  A.  Barbcu,  translated  by  E.  E.  Frewer, 
New  York. 


SOPHIE  HUGO.  75 


known  as  Volney,  the  renowned  author  of  "  The  Ruins." 
The  parents  had  three  sons,  of  whom  Victor  was  the 
youngest,  born  1802.  He  was  the  greatest  and  most 
productive  French  poet  in  this  century.  To  his  best 
works  belong  "Lucrece  Borgia,"  "Hernani,"  "Ruy 
Bias,"  and  "  Les  Miserables."  The  latter  work,  in  which 
Hugo  pleads  and  advocates  the  cause  of  the  poor  and 
miserable,  was  published  (1862)  simultaneously  in  Paris, 
Brussels,  Leipsic,  London,  Milan,  Madrid,  Rotterdam, 
Warsaw,  Pesth,  and  Rio  Janeiro.  Seven  thousand  copies 
were  issued  in  the  original  Paris  edition,  every  one  of 
which  was  sold  within  two  days,  and  in  a  fortnight  after- 
wards 8,000  more  were  ready.  Copies  of  foreign  transla- 
tions were  issued  to  the  number  of  25,950;  on  the  whole, 
the  circulation  may  be  estimated  to  have  been  hundreds 
of  thousands,  and  the  book  maybe  reckoned  as  one  of  the 
most  wonderful  successes  of  the  kind  that  has  ever  been 
known.  Emperor  Louis  Napoleon  exiled  Hugo  (1852), 
because  he  proclaimed  Republican  principles  from  the 
Tribune.  A  price  of  25,000  francs  was  offered  to  any- 
one who  would  either  kill  him  or  arrest  him.  He  went 
to  Brussels,  and  from  there  to  England,  where  he  lived 
nineteen  years  as  an  exile.  At  the  downfall  of  the  second 
empire  lie  returned  to  his  country,  where  he  was  re- 
ceived with  enthusiasm.  He  died  eighty-three  years  old 
(1885),  and  was  interred  in  the  church  of  St.  Genieve, 
the  temple  of  honor  of  the  great  French  citizens.  No 
doubt  th-it,  besides  the  extraordinary  talents  of  Victor 
Hugo,  the  education  which  his  parents,  especially  his 
mother,  imparted  him,  also  has  contributed  to  shape  his 
remarkable  character  and  life.  Therefore  follows  here 
a  short  narrative  of  the  exertions  which  his  mother  un- 


76  Tin:  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

derwent  in  the  education  of  her  children  generally,  and 
principally  of  Victor. 

Madame  Hugo  was  intelligent,  brave,  and  gentle,  and 
a  sincere,  though  by  no  means  bigoted,  Catholic.  She 
wa>  a  model  mother.  When  Victor  was  born,  he  was  a 
miserable  little  creature,  more  dead  than  alive.  His  de- 
crepit condition  made  it  indispensable  that  he  should  lie 
bapti/.ed  at  once.  Madame  Hugo  recovered  so  quickly 
from  her  confinement  that  twenty-two  days  later  she  ap- 
peared as  witness  to  the  birth-register  of  the  son  of  one 
of  her  husband's  fellow-officer?.  She  was  at  that  date 
twenty-five  years  of  age.  The  little  Victor  remained  so 
sickly  that  for  fifteen  months  after  his  birth,  his  shoulders 
seemed  incapable  of  supporting  the  weight  of  his  head. 
To  the  pure  air  of  Bcsanron,  where  he  was  born,  and  to 
ilie  untiring  care  and  attention  that  he  received  from  his 
mother,  he  was  indebted  fur  bis  life.  With  the  ]>ersevcr- 
auce  characteristic  of  a  true  mother,  Madame  Hugo 
Hicceeded  in  rescuing  her  child  from  the  very  jaws  of 
death,  and  he  grew  up  to  enjoy  a  life  of  health  and  vigor. 
At  the  age  of  six  weeks,  while  it  was  as  yet  quite  uncer- 
tain Avhether  the  infant  could  live  long,  he  was  taken 
from  liesancon  to  Marseilles.  Here,  before  long,  his 
mother  was  obliged  to  leave  him,  having  to  go  to  Paris. 
When  she  returned,  her  husband  received  orders  to  take 
command  of  a  garrison  in  the  Isle  of  Elba.  She  accom- 
panied him,  moving  from  island  to  island.  After  a  vear 
marked  with  many  vicissitudes,  her  husband  was  sum- 
moned to  join  the  army  in  Italy.  Accordingly  he  joined 
King  Joseph  Napoleon,  but,  concerned  for  his  family,  and 
aware  that  they  could  hardly  fail  to  suffer  from  a  contin- 
uation of  their  wandering  life,  he  determined  to  send 


SOPHIE  HUGO.  77 


tlicin  to  Paris.  Here  they  arrived  at  the  eiid  of  1805. 
Victor  was  habitually  so  low-spirited  that  none  except 
his  mother  could  ever  make  him  smile.  As  soon  as 
peace  was  restored  in  Italy,  his  father  again  sent  for  his 
wife  and  children,  and  thus,  in  October,  1807,  they  re- 
commenced their  travels.  The  route  from  Paris  to 
Naples  wa<  wearisome.  Madame  Hugo  and  her  children 
did  not  remain  in  Italy  more  than  a  year.  In  1808, 
when  Napoleon  had  decided  that  the  Spanish  Bourbons 
were  no  longer  to  reign,  his  brother  Joseph  was  transferred 
from  Naples  to  be  king  of  Spam.  Hugo's  father  followed 
him  to  Madrid ;  but  as  he  was  well  aware  of  the  hazard 
involved  in  settling  in  a  country  where  war  was  going  on, 
and  as  his  wife's  health  and  his  children's  education  had 
already  suffered  much  from  their  long  journeyings,  he 
made  up  his  mind  to  part  with  them  for  a  time,  and  sent 
them  again  to  Paris. 

Arrival  at  the  capital,  Madame  Hugo  was  fully  re- 
solved to  devote  herself  assiduously  to  the  education  of 
her  family.  Here  she  lived,  in  the  most  deserted  quarter 
of  Paris,  in  a  large  house,  which  was  surrounded  and 
shut  in  by  a  spacious  garden.  Victor  Hugo  wrote  some 
reminiscences  of  the  life  of  the  family  in  that  house,  say- 
ing: "Here,  in  the  time  of  the  first  empire,  grew  up  the 
three  Itrothers.  Together  in  their  work  and  in  their  play, 
rough-hewing  their  lives  regardless  of  destiny,  they  passed 
their  time  as  children  of  the  spring,  mindful  only  of  their 
books,  of  the  trees,  and  of  the  clouds,  listening  to  the 
tumultuous  chorus  of  the  birds,  but  watched  over  inces- 
santly by  one  sweet  and  loving  smile.  Blessings  on  thee, 
oh,  my  mother." 

Another  resident  in  that  household  was  an  aged  priest, 


Tin;  Knr<  \TIN<;   MOTIIKI:. 


a  kind  and  indulgent  tutor,  from  whom  the  boys  learned 
a  good  deal  of  Latin,  a  smattering  of  Greek,  but  the 
barest  outlines  of  history. 

Madame  Hugo  lived  here  a  most  retired  life,  entertain- 
ing none  but  a  few  intimate  friends,  and  devoting  herself 
to  her  children.  Strict,  yet  tender,  grave,  yet  gentle, 
conscientious,  well-informed,  vigilant,  and  thoroughly  im- 
pressed with  the  importance  of  her  maternal  duties,  she 
was  a  woman  of  superior  intellect,  having,  however,  much 
of  that  masculine  disposition  which  Plato  would  have 
described  as  "  royal."  She  fulfilled  her  mission  nobly. 
Tenderness,  not  unaccompanied  by  reserve,  discipline  that 
was  systematic  and  not  to  be  disputed,  the  slightest  of 
all  approaches  to  familiarity,  and  grave  discourses  replete 
with  instruction,  were  the  principal  features  of  the  train- 
ing Avhich  her  deep  affeotion  prompted  her  to  bestow 
upon  her  children  in  general — upon  Victor  in  particu- 
lar. Altogether,  her  teaching  was  vigorous  and  whole- 
some, without  a  touch  of  mysticism  or  of  doubt,  and  she 
did  her  part  to  make  her  sons  worthy  of  the  name  of  men. 

Every  word  of  Madame  Hugo  was  listened  to  with 
respect,  and  every  direction  obeyed  without  a  murmur. 
Though  there  were  many  fruit-trees  in  the  garden,  the 
boys  were  forbidden  to  touch  the  fruit.  "  But  what  if  it 
falls  ? "  asked  Victor.  "  Leave  it  on  the  ground  !  " 
"  And  what  if  it  is  getting  rotten  ?  "  "  Let  it  get  rot- 
ten ! "  And,  as  far  as  the  children  were  concerned,  the 
fruit  on  the  ground  Avould  lie  and  rot.  The  owner  of 
Madame  Hugo's  house  \\ns  Lalande,  the  astronomer.  He 
lived  next  door,  and  his  garden  was  separated  from  hers 
only  by  some  light  trellis-work.  Fearing  that  he  should 
be  annoyed  by  the  children,  he  proposed  to  put  up  a  more 


SorniK  HUGO.  7i) 


substantial  partitioD.  "  You  need  not  be  afraid,"  said 
the  mother ;  "  my  boys  will  not  trespass  upon  your  prop- 
erty. I  have  forbidden  them."  No  barrier  of  any  kind 
was  erected,  yet  neither  of  the  brothers  was  ever  known 
to  set  foot  upon  the  landlord's  ground. 

Abel,  the  eldest  boy,  was  placed  at  college,  the  other 
two  going  daily  to  a  school  in  the  neighborhood,  where  a 
worthy  man,  Le  Pere  Lariviere,  who,  in  spite  of  his  hum- 
ble circumstances,  was  well  informed,  instructed  the 
young  people  of  the  neighborhood  in  reading,  writing, 
and  elementary  arithmetic.  Every  time  the  two  children 
returned  from  school  they  had  to  pass  through  groups  of 
street-boys  that  were  playing  in  the  street.  No  doubt 
both  Victor  and  his  brother,  left  to  themselves,  would 
liaxt'  been  ready  enough  to  accept  the  invitation  to  join 
in  the  open  air  sports;  but  their  mother  had  forbidden 
it,  and  accordingly  it  was  not  to  be  thought  of  for  an 
in>t;int. 

In  1811  General  Louis  Hugo,  the  uncle  of  the  two 
I  M>\S  came,  on  behalf  of  his  brother,  to  accelerate  the 
departure  of  his  family  to  Spain.  Madame  Hugo  told 
her  children  that  they  would  have  to  know  Spanisli  in 
three  months'  time.  They  could  speak  it  at  the  end  n{ 
six  weeks. 

A  journey  to  Madrid  at  that  date  was  an  enterprise 
attended  by  no  inconsiderable  danger.  First  of  all, 
thciv  was  the  entire  transit  of  France  from  Paris  to 
Bayonne,  which,  though  now  to  be  accomplished  in  a 
t'c\\  hours,  in  1811  occupied  about  nine  days.  From 
Bayonne  the  family  had  to  start  for  Madrid  under  the 
protection  of  the  royal  convoy  of  the  quarterly  stipend, 
\\hich  Napoleon  regularly  sent  his  brother  Joseph,  and 


80  THE  EDUCATING  MOTIF r.i;. 

without  which  they  would  have  died  of  .-tarvation  in 
Madrid;  for  though  Joseph  declared  liiniself  king  of 
Spain,  he  was  unable  to  levy  any  contributions,  becau-r. 
in  fact,  he  had  no  possession  of  Spain.  These  stipends, 
which  were  known  as  le  tresor,  were  most  eagerly  coveted 
by  the  Spanish  guerrillas,  who  more  than  once  suc- 
ceeded in  capturing  them,  in  spite  of  the  strong  escort 
that  was  sent  to  protect  them  on  their  transit.  After  a 
dangerous  and  wearisome  journey,  lasting  nearly  three 
months,  and  marked  by  diversified  incidents,  the  details 
of  which  Madame  Hugo  has  published  in  a  printed 
book,  the  convoy  reached  Madrid.  Her  husband,  who 
was  now  a  general,  was  absent  from  the  city  when  she 
arrived.  When  he  came  back  he  entered  Abel  as  one  of 
King  Joseph's  pages,  and  sent  the  two  others  to  the 
Seminaire  des  Nobles.  But  after  the  disasters  which 
Napoleon,  in  1812,  had  suffered  in  Russia,  it  was  deemed 
prudent  for  Madame  Hugo  to  quit  Madrid.  Her  eldest 
son  remained  behind  with  the  general;  but  the  two 
school-boys  accompanied  their  mother  to  Paris,  and, 
after  another  journey  similar  to  the  last,  they  all  took 
up  their  abode  in  their  old  quarters.  (!<>od  old  La- 
rivii'-iv.  came  just  as  before  to  give  the  young  lads  their 
daily  lessons.  Any  dangerous  tendency  of  the  teaching 
of  the  priest  \va,s  happily  counteracted  by  the  gentle  and 
loving  good  sense  of  the  mother.  The  basis  of  her 
teaching  was  Voltairianism,  I mt  with  a  woman's  positiv- 
ism, she  did  not  concern  herself  to  instill  into  her  sons 
the  doctrines  of  any  special  creed. 

Not  content  with  tending  the  mental  and  moral  edu- 
cation of  her  children,  Madame  Hugo  took  much  pains 
to  develop  their  muscular  powers,  insisting  upon  their 


SOPHIE  HUGO.  81 


doing  a  certain  amount  of  gardening  work,  in  spite  of  its 
being  by  no  means  to  their  taste.  But,  while  they  were 
thus  rejoicing  in  their  comparative  freedom  from  re- 
straint, they  were  alarmed  at  the  project  of  being  again 
immured  within  the  restraint  of  a  college,  the  head 
master  of  which  held  it  necessary  to  shut  up  young  peo- 
ple in  order  to  make  them  work.  The  mother  finally 
decided  on  keeping  her  sons  at  home.  But  she  never 
allowed  them  to  be  idle ;  she  had  them  taught  to  use 
their  hands,  and  they  learned  to  do  some  carpentering 
and  to  paper  their  own  rooms.  Occasionally  a  little  girl 
of  thirteen  or  fourteen  years  came  to  play  in  the  garden, 
and  on  those  days  the  heart  of  Victor  beat  more  rapidly 
than  was  its  wont,  for  then  commenced  his  earnest, 
tender,  deep  regard  for  the  lady  who  afterwards  became 
his  wife.  Her  name  was  Adele,  daughter  of  the  minis- 
ter of  police,  Fouche. 

In  1814  the  imperial  throne  of  Napoleon  fell  down, 
and  the  Bourbons  were  restored.  Madame  Hugo  firmly 
believed  that  they  would  restore  to  France  the  liberty 
by  ivlirviir_r  the  land  from  the  imperial  oppression. 
Victor,  being  yet  a  child,  had  neither  the  right  nor  the 
power  to  argue  with  his  mother;  he  yielded  to  her  with 
all  revercnee.  Subsequently  it  was  his  father  who,  as 
veteran,  in  his  turn  influenced  his  mind.  His  mother 
wu-,  moreover,  an  enthusiastic  admirer  of  Voltaire,  and 
the  boy,  through  sympathy  with  her,  satirized  the  monks, 
ami,  censing  to  be  a  Catholic,  he  became  a  freethinker, 
always,  however,  remaining  a  sincere  deist. 

In  1*17,  Victor,  when  he  was  only  fifteen  years  old, 
without  communicating  his  intention  to  anyone,  made  up 
hi-  mind  to  compote  for  the  poetical  prize  that  was 
6 


82  Tin.  KIU-C.VHM; 


annually  offered  by  the  Academic  Franeaisc.  The  sub- 
ject proposed  was,  "  The  Advantages  of  Study  in  Kvery 
Situatiou  of  Life."  Unfortunately,  in  the  course  of  the 
poeni,  the  juvenile  author  introduced  the  couplet: — 

"And  though  the  thronging  scenes  of  life  I  shun, 
For  me  three  lustrums  scarce  their  course  have  rim."* 

This  avowal  raised  the  suspicion  of  the  judges,  and 
the  Academicians  took  the  lines  a-  an  affront  to  their 
dignity.  Accordingly  the  prizes  were  awarded  to  three 
other  competitors,  and  only  ail  "honorable  mention" 
was  awarded  to  Victor  Hugo,  although  there  was  little 
doubt  that  his  was  the  most  meritorious  of  all  the  com- 
]H>sitions  that  had  been  sent  in.  When  the  verses  were 
read  in  public,  the  decision  of  the  judges  did  not  avail 
to  prevent  his  production  from  being  received  with  the 
loudest  applause.  In  the  report  that  was  published 
there  appeared  a  paragraph  to  the  effect  that  if  M. 
Hugo  was  really  only  as  old  a«  lie  represented,  lie  de- 
served some  encouragement  from  the  Academy.  This  at 
once  aroused  Madame  Hugo's  indignation.  She  sent  a 
categorical  statement  to  the  Secretary  of  the  Academy, 
who  had  drawn  up  the  report,  and  he  replied  that  if 
the  author  of  the  poem  had  really  spoken  the  truth,  he 
should  be  very  pleased  to  make  his  acquaintance.  More 
indignant  than  ever,  the  mother  hurried  off  with  her  SUM 
to  the  Secretary,  and  showed  him  the  register  of  birth  of 
Victor.  The  secretary  was  a  little  ashamed,  and  could 
only  stammer  out  the  explanation,  that  he  "  could  never 
have  supposed  it  possible." 

•A  lust;-u:n,  a  Roman  div.'s'mi  "f  time,  was  the  space  of  five  years. 


POPHTE  Hr<;«>.  83 


Tlie  next  year  Hugo  became  a  prize-winner  in  the 
Jeux  Floraux — celebrated  Dailies  in  Toulon.se.  One  of 
the  poems  by  which  he  won  the  prizes  was  composed  in 
a  .-inulr  night,  and  under  circumstances  that  make  it  a 
touching  tribute  of  filial  affection.  Madame  Hugo  was 
suffering  from  inttammation  of  the  chest,  and  her  two 
younger  sons  were  taking  their  turn  to  sit  up  with  her  at 
night.  In  the  course  of  the  evening,  when  it  was  Victor'- 
turn  to  remain  in  her  room,  the  mother,  knowing  that  the 
following  day,  according  to  the  rules  of  the  competition, 
was  the  latest  on  which  contributions  could  be  received, 
alluded  to  his  composition,  supposing  it  to  have  been  duly 
M-nt  off.  Victor  was  obliged  to  confess  that  the  ode  had 
not  been  written,  and  pleaded  that  lie  had  had  too  many 
occupation.-  to  be  able  to  attend  to  it.  She  rebuked  him 
gently,  but  the  youth  could  see  plainly  enough  that  she 
laid  herself  down  with  a  feeling  of  sore  disappointment 
weighing  on  her  heart. 

No  sooner  was  she  asleep  than  Victor  set  to  work;  he 
wrote  diligently  all  through  the  night,  and  when  she 
awoke  at  day-break  he.  had  the  complete  ode  to  lay  be- 
fore her  as  a  morning  greeting.  The  manuscript  that 
\va- .-••!! t  forthwith  to  Toulouse,  went  after  being  first  be- 
dewed with  a  mother's  tears. 

Victor's  general  studies  were  now  so  far  advanced  that 
he  was  capable  of  entering  the  Ecole  Polytechnique. 
In  \\\<  own  mind,  however,  he  was  convinced  that  a  mili- 
tary life  was  not  in  the  least  Jiis  vocation,  and  both  he 
and  his  brother  begged  not  to  be  obliged  to  present  them- 
Belvea  at  the  examination.  Only  with  extreme  reluctance 
did  ( Jciieral  Hugo  acquiesce  in  their  desire;  but  he  with- 
drew tin-  moderate  allowance  he  had  hitherto  made  them 
and  left  them  to  their  own  resources. 


84  THE  EDI  <  \ii\-. 


When  the  general  \vas  reduced  to  half  pay  (1*20), 
Madame  Hugo  was  obliged  to  rent  a  cheaper  residence. 
Here  the  distinguished  poet  Lamartine  saw  Victor,  and 
published  this  report  of  his  visit:  "I  found  myself  on  the 
ground-floor  of  an  obscure  house  at  the  end  of  a  court. 
There  a  grave,  melancholy  mother  was  industriously  in- 
structing some  boys  of  various  ages — her  sons.  She 
showed  us  into  a  low  room  a  little  way  apart,  at  the 
farther  end  of  which,  either  reading  or  writing,  sat  a  stu- 
dious youth  with  a  fine,  massive  head,  intelligent  and 
thoughtful.  This  was  Victor  Hugo,  the  man  whose  pen 
can  now  charm  or  terrify  the  world." 

Victor's  greatest  pleasure  was  to  accompany  his  mother 
to  Minister  Fouche's  house,  and  there  he  spent  long  even- 
ings in  unspoken  admiration  of  the  maiden  to  whom  his 
whole  heart  was  devoted.  It  was  not  long  before  these 
admiring  glances  were  noticed  by  the  parents,  to  whom 
the  danger  of  encouraging  such  a  passion  was  apparent. 
as  both  the  young  people  were  of  an  age  when  marriage 
was  out  of  the  question.  By  mutual  consent  the  two 
families  broke  off  all  intimacy  for  a  time.  Victor  lived 
confident  of  his  future  happiness ;  but  in  the  midst  of  hi ; 
anticipations  he  was  overwhelmed  by  a  terrible  blow 
His  mother  took  cold,  inflammation  of  the  chest  again  set 
in,  and  this  time  no  devotion  on  the  part  of  her  sons 
could  arrest  the  malady.  The  fond  mother  died  on  the 
27th  of  June,  1821.  Hugo  had  lost  a  mother  who  to 
him  had  been  more  than  a  mother,  inspiring  him  with  his 
love  for  the  beautiful  and  his  reverence  for  the  g  >  <1. 


Tin:  Drcin>s  <>r  KKNT. 


THE     DUCHESS     OF     KENT,      MOTHER 

OF    QUEEN    VICTORIA,    OF 

ENGLAND.* 


THE  father  of  Queen  Victoria  of  England  was  Ed- 
ward, Duke  of  Kent;  and  her  mother,  Victoria 
Maria  Louisa,  daughter  of  the  Duke  of  Saxe-Coburg. 
Left  a  widow  when  her  infant  was  but  eight  months  old, 
the  duchess  devoted  herself  to  the  great  purpose  of  train- 
ing her  (laughter  to  be  worthy  of  the  crown  which  it 
seemed  probable  she  might  wear. 

The  ordering  and  training  of  Queen  Victoria  was  en- 
tirely the  work  of  her  wise-hearted  mother.  Before  the 
birth  of  the  child  she  left  her  own  home  in  Germany,  and 
hastened  to  England,  so  that  her  offspring  might  be  Brit- 
ish born.  In  spite  of  the  remonstrances  of  those  who 
fancied  scientific  knowledge  was  confined  to  masculine 
practitioners,  she  was  firm  in  her  purpose  to  employ  only 
Dr.  Charlotte,  as  she  was  called,  a  graduated  female  phy- 
sician from  (uTinany.  And  thus,  under  a  woman's  care 
and  skill,  Victoria  was  ushered  into  the  world.  The 
duchess  nursed  her  infant  at  her  own  bosom,  always  at- 
tended on  the  bathing  and  dressing,  and  as  soon  as  the 
little  girl  could  sit  alone,  she  was  placed  at  a  small  table 
beside  her  mother's  at  her  meals,  yet  never  indulged  in 
any  but  the  prescribed  simple,  kinds  of  food.  Thus  were 
i In-  sentiments  cf  obedience,  l>i,i/,t,'<nici;  and  wlf-control 
early  inculcated  and  brought  into  daily  exercise. 

The  Duke  of  Kent  died  in  debt  for  money  borrowed 
of  his  friends.  The  duchess  instructed  the  little  princess 
concerning  these  debts,  and  encouraged  her  to  lay  aside 

•"Distinguished  Women,"  by  Mrs.  Hale 


80  Tin:  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

portions  of  money,  which  might  have  been  expended  in 
the  purchase  of  toys,  us  u  fund  to  pay  these  demands 
against  her  deceased  father.  Thus  were  awakened  and 
cultivated  those  noble  virtues,  justice, fidelity,  prudence 
with  that  filial  devotion  which  is  the  germ  of  jxifrinfi^in. 
And  thus,  throughout  all  the  arrangements  during  the 
first  seven  years,  the  order,  the  simplicity,  the  conscien- 
tiousness of  the  teacher,  were  moulding  the  ductile  and 
impressible  mind  and  heart  of  the  pupil  to  follow  after 
wisdom  and  do  the  right.  Love,  in  her  mother's  form, 
was  ever  around  the  little  princess ;  the  counsels  and  ex- 
amples of  that  faithful  mentor  served  to  lift  up  the  young 
soul. 

Well  was  it  that  the  Duke  of  Kent  left  his  wife  sole 
guardian  over  his  child.  The  duchess  could  arrange 
the  whole  manner  of  Victoria's  education  and  superintend 
it.  She  did  do  this.  From  the  day  of  her  husband's  death 
till  Victoria  was  proclaimed  queen,  the  Duchess  of  Kent 
never  separated  herself  from  her  daughter.  They  slept 
in  the  same  apartment.  The  first  lessons  were  taught  by 
maternal  lips,  and  when  careful  teachers  were  employed, 
still  the  mother  \vas  ever  present,  sharing  the  amusements 
and  encouraging  the  exercises  and  innocent  gaiety  of  the 
child.  Thus  A\as  Victoria  trained.  Her  intellectual  ed- 
ucation was  as  thorough  as  her  physical  and  moral. 
I'Youi  her  cradle  she  \vas  taught  to  speak  three  lan- 
guages,— English,  German  and  French.  In  her  fifth 
year  the  mother  chose  as  preceptor  for  the  princess,  the 
Rev.  George  Davys.  In  the  co-operation  afforded  by  this 
gentleman  with  the  wise  plans  of  the  mother  for  her 
daughter's  education,  he  evinced  great  excellence  of 
moral  character.  The  duchess  confided  in  him  fully. 


TIIK  DUCHESS  OF  KENT.  87 

When  the  princess  became  heir  presumptive  to  the  throne, 
;ui<l  it  was  intimated  to  her  mother  that  some  distin- 
guished prelate  should  be  appointed  instructor,  she  ex- 
pressed her  perfect  approval  of  Dr.  Davys  as  her  daugh- 
ter's tutor,  declined  any  change,  but  hinted  that  if  a 
dignified  clergyman  were  indispensable  to  fill  this  impor- 
tant office,  there  would  be  no  objection  if  Dr.  Davys 
received  the  preferment  he  had  always  well  merited.  He 
\va.-  s •«m  afterwards  made  Dean  of  Chester. 

Besides  her  preceptor,  Victoria  had  an  excellent  in- 
structress, the  Baroness  Lehzen,  whose  services  were  like- 
\\ise  retained  through  the  whole  term  of  her  education; 
and  the  long  harmony  so  happily  maintained  between 
llii'  mother  and  her  auxiliaries  in  this  important  work  of 
preparing  :i  sovereign  to  be  worthy  of  a  throne,  is  an  ex- 
ample worthy  of  consideration  by  those  who  would  seek 
the  best  models  for  private  education. 

It  has  been  stated  repeatedly,  and  never  contradicted, 
that  the  Princess  Victoria  was  not  aware  of  her  claims 
on  the  succession  until  a  little  before  the  death  of  her  un- 
cle, George  IV.  The  duchess  had  thus  carefully  guarded 
her  child  from  the  pernicious  flattery  of  inferiors,  and 
kept  her  young  heart  free  from  hopes  or  wishes  which 
the  future  might  have  disappointed.  When  the  accession 
of  King  William  placed  her  next  the  throne,  she  had 
completed  her  eleventh  year,  "and  evinced  abilites  and 
possessed  accomplishments  very  rare  for  that  tender  age 
in  any  rank  of  life."  Says  an  English  author:  "She 
spoke  French  and  German  with  fluency,  and  was  ac- 
quainted with  Italian;  she  had  made  some  progress  in 
Latin  ;  she  had  commenced  Greek  and  studied  mathe- 
matics." She  had  also  made  good  proficiency  in  music 


88  THE  EDUCATING  MOTIH  ::. 

and  drawing,  in  both  of  which  arts  she  afterwards  became 
quite  accomplished.  Nor  did  she  neglect  the  arts,  sci- 
ences and  employments  which  most  conduce  to  the  pros- 
perity of  a  nation.  So  this  young  princess  passed  the 
intervening  years  till  her  majority,  May  24,  1837.  The 
day  was  kept  as  a  general  holiday  throughout  the  kingdom. 
In  four  weeks  from  that  day  the  sudden  death  of  Will- 
iam IV.  gave  the  sovereignty  of  the  British  Empire  to 
this  young  maiden  of  eighteen.  After  the  duchess  had 
seen  her  royal  daughter  enthroned  on  a  seat  of  State  pre- 
pared for  the  occasion,  she  withdrew  and  left  the  young 
queen  with  her  Council.  From  that  hour  no  more  ad- 
vice, no  farther  instruction  were  ever  offered.  The  good 
seed  had  been  sown  at  the  right  time;  it  put  forth  spon- 
taneously. In  1838  Victoria  was  crowned  in  Westmin- 
ster Abbey.  From  that  time  onward  there  has  been  no 
diminution  in  her  zeal.  She  has  been  a  model  of  female 
royalty. 

ARMGART,  A  POOR  MOTHER  WITH 
SEVERAL  CHILDREN.* 


ACT  IV,  SCENE  III. 

The  pass  near  Kussnacht,  with  rocks  on  either  side,  over- 
grown with  brushwood.      Wilhelm  TcU,  later  N///.W  1ltn 
Hanger,  Armijurt  iritli  ]x r  r///A//v-//,  f»V.W»r,  J!ndof/>h 
der  Harras,  Friesshardt  (a  soldier^),  people. 
Tell,  [enter*  •/<•// A  A/.s  crossbow}. 

Here  thro'  this  deep  defile  he  needs  must  pass ; 

There  leads  no  other  road  to  Kiissuacht — here 

I'll  do  it — the  opportunity  is  good. — 

*  "  Wilhelm  Tell,"  by  Frederic  Schiller. 


AEMGART.  89 

Now,  Gessler,  balance  thine  account  with  Heaven! 
Thou  must  away  from  earth, — thy  sand  is  run. 

[lie  is  joined  by  titii**!.  the  litimjr,'. 

,  Armgart.  [enters  with  several  children,  and  place*  her- 
self at  the  entrance  of  the  />n.«. 
The  Viceroy  not  arrived  ? 

StussL  And  do  you  seek  him? 
Arm.  Alas,  I  do! 

Stussi  But  why  thus  place  yourself 
Where  you  obstruct  his  passage  down  the  pass? 

Arm.  Hen;  he  cannot  escape  me.     He  must  hear  me. 
Fries*,  [coining  liuxtilij  doum  the  pass,  and  calls  iipon 

the 

Make  way,  make  way !  My  lord  the  governor 
Is  coming  down  on  horseback  close  behind  me. 
Arm.  [with  uninuiH<>n~]  The  Viceroy  comes. 
[fihe  yoi-x  tointrd*  flic,  path  with  her  children. 

nn<l  l!n<ln/i>li  <lcr  lluiTas  appear  upon  the  heights  on 
horseback,  and  are  about  to  pass  on.    Armgart  throws 
herself  down  before  Gessler. 
Arm.  Mercy,  lord  governor !  O  pardon,  pardon ! 
Ges>i.   Why  do  you  cross  me  on  the  public  road? 
Stand  back,  I  say. 

Arm.  My  husband  lies  in  prison ; 
My  wretched  orphans  cry  for  bread.     Have  pity, 
1'ity,  my  lord,  upon  our  sore  distress!  [band? 

Hdrr.   Who  are  you,  woman;  and  who  is  your  hus- 
Artii.  A  poor  wild-hay-man  of  the  Rigiberg, 
Kind  sir,  who  on  the  brow  of  the  abyss 
Mows  down  the  grass  from  steep  and  craggy  shelves, 
To  which  the  very  cattle  dare  not  climb. 

7A//v.  [f<>  (»VWo\] 

By  Heaven!  a  sad  and  miserable  life! 
1  prithee,  give  the  wretched  man  his  freedom. 
How  great  soever  his  offense  may  be, 
His  horrid  trade  is  punishment  enough. 

[to  Amiga  rt. 

You  shall  have  justice.     To  the  castle  bring 
Your  suit.     This  is  no  place  to  deal  with  it. 


90  THE  Enrr.mxc  MOTHER. 


Arm.     .     .     .     No,  no,  I   will  not  .stir  from  where  I 
I'ntil  your  grace  restore  my  husband  to  me.  [stand, 

Six  months  already  has  lie  been  in  prison, 
And  waits  the  sentence  of  a  judge  in  vain.  [Begone! 

f.Vxx.   How!    would   you    force  me  woman?     Hence! 

Ann.    .    .    .    Justice,  my  lord !     Ay,  justice!     Thou 
art  judge; 

The  deputy  of  the  Emperor — of  Heaven. 
Then  do  thy  duty, — as  thou  hopest  for  justice 
From  Him  who  rules  above,  show  it  to  us! 

(i'<'xa.  Hence,  drive  this  daring  rabble  from  my  sight! 

Ann.    [*i'!z!n(/  t/K'  //o/'.sr'x  /vv'//>-.] 
No,  no,  by  Heaven;  I've  nothing  more  to  lose. — 
Thou  stirr'st  not,  Viceroy,  from  this  spot,  until 
Thou  dost  me  fullest  justice.     Knit  thy  brows, 
And  roll  thy  eyes — I  fear  not.    Our  distress 
l<  so  extreme,  so  boundless,  that  we  care 
No  longer  for  thine  anger. 

(Jr.**.   Woman,  hence! 
( live  way,  I  say,  or  I  will  ride  thee  down. 

Ann.     .     .     .     Well  do  so — there — 

[throne   lifr  cJii/ilrni    ninl   lirwlf  tipoti  the  ffTOUnd  !><'- 

[  I'ni-r  him. 

Here  on  the  ground  I  lie, 

I  and  my  children.      Let.  the  wretched  orphans 
He  trodden  by  thy  horse  into  the  dust! 
It  will  not  be  the  worst  that  thou  hast  done. 

linn:     .     .     .     Are  you  mad,  woman  V 

Ami.  [continuing  'iritli  vehemence^] 
Mauv  a  day  thou  hast 

'I  rampled  the'  emperor's  lands  beneath  thy  feet. 
Oh,  I  am  but  a  woman!      Were  I  man, 
I'd  find  some  better  thing  to  do  than  here 
Lie  groveling  in  the  dust. 

(,'<     .    Where  are  mv  knave;-  V 
Drag  her  away,  lest  I  forget  myself, 
And  do  some  deed  I  may  repent  hereafter     .     .     . 
Too  mild  a  ruler  am  I  to  this  people, 
Their  tongues  are  all  too  bold — 


KATHARINE  BORA.  91 


I  will  subdue  this  stubborn  mood  of  theirs, 
And  crush  the  soul  of  liberty  within  them. 
I'll  publish  a  new  law  throughout  the  land; 
J  will—    - 

[An  arrow  pierces  him, — he  pute  his  hand  on  his  heart, 

<tnd  /x  about  to  xinlc — tcith  a  feeble  voice, 
Oh  (iod,  have  mercy  on  my  soul! 

llx.r.  My  lord!  My  lord!  Oh  God!  what's  this? 

Arm.  [xtart*  np.~]  Whence  came  it? 

Dead,  dead!     He  reels,  he  £jlls !     'Tis  in  his  heart ! 

<lr.<«.  That  shot  was  Toll's*. 

[II,  .--/Idrxfroiii  hi*  IKH-XI'  Into  the  arms  of  J!ndo//>h  der 
*,  ii'tio  hty*  him  dou'n  njion  tin-  (/round.  Tell  HJ>- 
<//>ore  upon  the  rock*. 

Thou  know'st  the  archer,  seek  no  other  hand. 
( )ur  cottages  are  free,  and  innocence 
Secure  from  thee:  thou'lt  be  our  curse  no  more. 

[Tell  disappears,     l^-o^lc  rush  in. 

,s'/,V.W.   \Vhat  is  the  matter?     Tell  me  what  has  hap- 
pen*d? 

Ann.  The  governor  is  shot — kill'd  l)y  an  arrow! 

titii**!.    llv    Heaven,   his  cheek  is  pale!     His  life  ebbs 

fast 

See  then  '    How  pale  he  grows!    Death's  gathering  now 
. \lioiit  his  heart, —  his  eyes  gm\v  dim  and  glazed. 

Arm.    [hn/d*  nji  a  chl/dj] 
J^ook,  children,  how  a  tyrant  dies! 


KATHARINE   BORA,  MOTHER   OF  MAR- 
TIN   LUTHER'S    CHILDREN.* 


KATHARINE    BORA,   born    1499    and     deceased 
1  .").")!>,  was,  when  very  young,  dedicated  to  convent 
life  by  her  parents  and  placed  in  one.     Day  by  day  her 
hatred  of  life  in   such   an   establishment    inci^ased,  and 


*  "  Frauenspiegel,"  by  F.  Kaab. 


92  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

the  more  because  she  was  of  noble  descent.  Therefore, 
;i  tin-  Reformation  of  the  Church  began,  the  di-'nv  \<> 
be  delivered  from  the  enthrallment  of  the  conyent  wall> 
was  roused  in  her  and  eight  other  nuns.  Martin  Luther 
contrived  the  plan  of  their  deliverance.  He  gained, 
privately,  the  consent  of  a  burgher  in  Torgau.  During 
the  night  he  mounted  the  wall  of  the  garden,  and  helped 
the  nuns  to  pass  over  it.  He  afterward  married  Kath- 
arine, and  was  the  happiest  of  husbands.  He  never  had 
reason  to  repent  his  choice.  Katharine  added  to  the 
charms  of  youth  much  BprightHneeB  of  mind.  She  was 
also  an  excellent  housewife  and  mother,  devoting  herself 
carefully  to  the  mental  and  moral  cultivation  of  her  six 
children,  and  leading  them  to  virtue  by  her  fair  example. 
As  she  loved  her  husband  tenderly  and  sincerely  till  his 
death,  so  her  love  of  her  children  was  the  tenderest  and 
most  heart-felt  which  a  good  mother  can  exhibit, 

Her  husband,  who  died  in  1546,  left  her  little  or  no 
property;  then  she  experienced  a  sad  fate.  The  war  of 
religion,  which,  one  year  from  his  death,  broke  out,  and 
greatly  disturbed  the  leaders  of  the  Protestants,  atHicted 
the  unhappy  mother  also,  and  when  the  besieged  city, 
Wittenberg,  where  she  resided,  surrendered,  her  situation 
became  very  disagreeable.  All  the  faithful  follow- 
the  new  doctrine  left  the  city,  and  she  also  took  to 
flight  with  her  children.  After  she  had  returned  with 
manv  others,  her  condition  was  not  much  improved. 
She  was  obliged  to  rent  some  rooms,  and  to  board  a  lew 
students  at  a  reasonable  charge.  In  a  funeral  programme 
of  the  University  this  passage  occurs:  "The  lady,  al- 
ready heaVily  charged,  being  a  widow,  must  wander 
about  with  her  children  among  the  greatest  dangers,  like 


KATHARINE  BORA.  93 

a  banished  criminal;  many  have  treated  her  ungrate- 
fully ;  those  of  whom  she  expected  to  receive  benefits,  on 
u< •(•mint  of  her  husband's  great  and  public  merits,  have 
often  shamefully  disappointed  her." 

Katharine  lived  iu  retirement  and  poverty  in  Witten- 
berg till  in  1552  the  pest  broke  out,  and  the  University 
was  removed  to  Torgau.  She  followed  there  with  her 
children  in  order  to  not  lose  the  small  profit  from  the 
boarders.  But  on  the  journey  the  horses  were  fright- 
ened, and  as,  for  the  sake  of  safety,  she  jumped  with  her 
children  from  the  wagon,  she  fell  into  a  mire,  and  took 
such  a  cold  that  she  died  December  20,  1552.  She  was 
interred  in  the  church  of  Torgau,  where  her  tombstone 
yet  can  be  seen. 


ROSINA   KING,    MOTHER   OF   THE 
AUTHOR.* 


ROSINA  KING  was  born  in  Urban,  Moravia,  at  the 
boundary  of  Austria,  where  her  father  was  a  well- 
to-do  farmer.  In  1800  she  was  married  to  a  vine- 
dresser in  the  same  village.  Though  the  daughter  of  a 
wealthy  farmer,  she  had  to  Avork  hard,  like  the  women 
generally  in  that  country.  She  had  to  do  the  house- 
work, and  besides  to  tend  to  the  children,  to  provide  for 
the  cattle,  and  to  help  in  the  field.  She  had  to  rise 
early  in  summer,  at  two  o'clock,  in  order  to  cook,  to  milk 
the  cow,  and  to  prepare  the  children  for  school.  Then 
she  had  to  carry  the  meals  to  her  husband,  who  was  already 

*Some  readers  will  call  mo  immodest  to  introduce,  among  the  model  moth- 
ers, my  own  ninthcr  and  wife.  I  beg  their  pardon;  it  is  the  first  ami  last 
time  that  I  speak  in  public  of  the  two  nearest  and  dearest  persons  I  had  in  my 
life.—  AUTHOR. 


Ml  Tn;:  EDVCVTINC, 


working  in  the  vineyards,  some,  four  miles  distant,  i  i 
addition  she  must  take  the  baby  with  her.  In  the  evening, 
\vhen  she  returned  home,  she  often  was  laden  with  a 
heavy  bundle1  of  grass  on  her  back.  80  the  summer- 
went  on.  In  winter-time  she  had  to  do  the  x-win.ir, 
knitting,  and  spinning  for  the  family.  Though  her  hus- 
band. manufactured  wine,  she  hardly  drank  any,  or  if  so, 
very  little  of  it. 

She  had  five  boys,  and  as  their  father  was  compara- 
tively poor,  they  must  expect  that,  like  the  sons  of  other 
poor  families,  when  grown  ii]),  they  would  be  obliged  to 
do  military  service,  which  was,  in  Austria,  at  that  time, 
very  severe.  It  lasted  fourteen  years.  In  order  to  es- 
cape this  fate,  the  first-born  son  ought  to  be  sent  to  a  col- 
lege. The  parents,  not  having  means  to  pay  the  tuition, 
resolved  upon  the  following  expedient  in  order  to  attain 
their  aim.  The  son  of  a  neighbor  was,  in  Vienna,  tutor 
of  the  boys  who  had  to  sing  in  the  choruses  of  the  opera 
house.  The  father,  living  on  good  terms  with  the  neigh- 
bor, persuaded  him  easily  to  recommend  his  little  boy 
to  the  tutor.  He  had  the  good  sense  to  let  the  little  fel- 
low, meanwhile,  be  well  instructed  by  the  excellent. 
school-master  of  the  village,  both  in  the  common  branches 
of  the  public  school,  and  in  singing  and  playing  the  vio- 
lin. The  tutor  of  the  opera  singers  wanted  to  see  speci- 
mens of  penmanship  of  the  little  one.  They  were  sent, 
found  satisfactory,  and  the  boy  was  forthwith  admitted  to 
the  choir  of  the  young  singers.  He  desired  to  go  to  Vi- 
enna, and  his  mother,  too,  was  glad  to  see  him  enter  the 
career  of  his  future  fortune.  But  when  the  moment  ar- 
rived that  she  had  to  part  with  him,  her  motherly  heart 
broke  down;  she  was  sobbing  while  she  embraced  him, 


95 


but  he  was  laughing  in  the  anticipation  of  all  the  joys 
which  attended  him  in  the  golden  city.  Bufc^  a  change 
of  feelings  soon  came  then1  over  his  mind.  All  things 
of  his  new  situation  were  strange  to  him;  he  fell  home- 
sick, and  rose  often  at  night  from  the  bed,  kneeling  down, 
shedding  hot  tears,  and  calling  pitifully  the  name  of  his 
beloved  mother. 

And  she  came  again.  Alter  several  months  she  paid 
him  a  visit,  traveling  fifty  miles  far  from  home,  most  of 
them  on  foot.  She  consoled  and  encouraged  the  child, 
and  bought  him  a  new  violin  and  a  music  book.  As, 
one  year  later,  the  institute  in  which  he  was  engaged 
was  broken  up,  his  tutor  induced  several  patrons  of  poor 
boys  to  support  him  for  a  year,  and  the  singing-master 
of  the  iinj)erial  chapel  admitted  him  to  the  exercises  of 
his  school.  After  one  year  a  place  was  vacant  for  a 
Hi'ging  boy  of  the  chapel.  The  boy  applied  for  it,  sub- 
mitted t:>  the  public  examination,  and  was  elected  from 
a  host  of  candidates  who  met  from  all  parts  of  the  em- 
pire competing  for  the  situation.  He  was  indebted  for 
this  success  to  his  benevolent  patrons.  He  was  received 
into  the  imperial  seminary,  where  the  emperior  of  Aus- 
tria paid  all  expenses  of  his  living  and  education.  In 
this  position  he  became  acquainted  with  the  great  tone- 
masters  of  Vienna,  Francis  Shubert  (who  was  his  school- 
i;>l!o\\ •),  the  violinist  Mayseder,  L.  Beethoven,  and  others 
famous.  Meanwhile  his  good  mother  still  continued  her 
pilgrimages  to  her  son  for  many  years.  To  his  parents, 
and  especially  to  his  mother,  he  owes  the  success  in  his 
life.  A  thousand  blessings  on  the  ashes  of  the  noble- 
hearted  parents! 


96  THE  EDUCATING  MOTIII;:;. 

ROSA  MILLER,  MOTHER  OF  THE 
AUTHOR'S   CHILDREN. 


ROSA  MILLER  was  born  in  1811,  in  Mariazcll, 
a  famous  place  of  pilgrimage  in  Styria,  where  her 
father  was  an  innkeeper  of  good  standing.  She  was  the 
last  of  twelve  children,  and  got  her  education  in  Vienna. 
She  possessed  wonderful  talents.  She  had  but  to  read  ;i 
book  once  to  remember  all  of  its  contents.  She  was  able 
to  recite  the  long  poern  of  Schiller's,  "  Song  of  the  Bell," 
after  having  read  it  over  twice.  Once,  being  in  the  yard 
of  the  house,  she  listened  to  a  neighbor  Avho  stood  at  the 
open  window  of  the  second  floor,  and  recited  to  another 
who  stood  in  the  yard  a  popular  song  which  contained 
twenty  stanzas;  and  she  wa.s  able  to  repeat  them,  and 
kept  them  also  in  her  memory.  She  had  memorized  the 
number  of  inhabitants  of  all  towns  and  cities  of  more 
than  three  thousand  people.  In  mental  arithmetic  she 
was  always  at  the  head  of  her  class.  When  six  year- 
old,  she  was  so  accomplished  in  all  kinds  of  needle-work, 
that  she  was  employed  in  the  first  milliner  shop  of 
Vienna.  She  understood  French,  and  read  French  liter- 
ature. She  was  also  a  good  cook. 

When  twenty-two  years  old,  she  followed  her  husband 
to  Zurich,  in  Switzerland,  where  he  was  appointed 
teacher  in  a  public  school.  She  bore  him  eleven  children, 
nine  boys  and  two  girls.  Seven  boys  became  soldiers, 
two  in  the  old  country,  where  both  rose  to  the  rank  of 
general-adjutants,  and  five  enlisted  during  the  seces-ion 
war  in  the  armies  of  the  Vnited  States.  One  of  them 
was  taken  prisoner  in  the  battle  at  Petersburg,  and 
starved  to  death  in  the  pri.-ons  of  Salisbury,  North  Caro- 


ROSA  MILLER.  97 

linn;  another  lost  one  leg  in  the  buttle  ut  Stone  River, 
Tennessee.  All  the  children  inherited  u  good  memory 
from  their  mother.  As  her  husband  had  no  more  than 
8240  salary,  and  some  incidental  earnings  made  by  pri- 
vate lessons  and  publishing  books,  she  had  to  do  all  her 
housework;  and  she  did  it  cheerfully,  often  meanwhile 
watching  and  attending  to  her  babe  in  the  cradle. 
On  one  occasion,  while  engaged  in  doing  the  family 
washing,  she  received  a  call  from  two  patrician  ladies. 
J'olitelv  handing  them  chairs,  she,  without  discontinuing 
her  work,  entered  with  zest  into  the  conversation,  nor 
forgot  an  instant  her  cradled  infant. 

Of  course  she  did  not  pay  many  visits;  she  had  no 
time;  she  lived  only  for  her  children.  As  a  rule,  she 
went  never  to  bed  until  all  her  children  were  asleep.  If 
one  was  indisposed,  she  passed  often  many  hours  of  the 
night  at  its  bed.  When  her  youngest  daughter  was  a 
tew  months  old,  the  babe  fell  sick;  then  the  parents  sat 
up  with  her  during  the  night,  the  mother  before,  the 
lather  after  midnight,  This  attention  was  continued 
during  six  weeks,  until  the  child  died.  When  the  other 
girl  was  over  twelve  years  old,  she  also  was  afflicted  with 
a  disease  from  which  she  nevermore  fully  recovered. 
During  one  winter  she  was  day  and  night  bedridden. 
The  readers  can  imagine  what  sacrifices  her  nursing  de- 
manded from  the  mother.  Still  she  never  got  tired  nor 
out  of  patience.  When  she  was  lying  on  her  death-bed, 
she  took  the  two  youngest  children  into  her  bed,  and 
attended  to  them.  Once  five  children  were  afflicted 
with  the  mea.-le<.  She  nursed  them  during  the  day  and 
night,  wa-  always  busied  around  them,  and  fearless  of  the 
iiit'e.-iion  for^  herself.  When  her  children  were  infants, 


98  THE  EDU<  ATINC 


she  nourished  them  at  her  own  breast,  as  well  as  washing 
and  bathing  them  regularly.  There  was  no  sacrifice 
which  she  was  not  ready  to  offer  for  the  welfare  of  the 
children.  Once,  when  returning  home,  she  was  very 
thirsty;  she  had  still  some  cents  left  which  she  spent  for 
cherries  to  take  to  the  children,  while  she  quenched  her 
thirst  with  water  from  the  public  well. 

She  made  most  of  the  clothing  for  the  children.  She 
sat  up  one  entire  night,  assisted  by  her  daughter,  to 
make  a  new  suit  for  one  of  the  boys  which  he  wanted  in 
order  to  take  part  in  a  school  festival  the  following  day. 

Not  less  was  the  care  she  took  for  the  moral  education 
of  her  children,  in  order  to  accustom  them  to  cleanlim  >>, 
frugality,  obedience,  concord,  veracity,  and  honesty. 
Their  food  was  plain,  but  nutritious  ;  dainties  were  not 
allowed  nor  indulged.  There  were  neither  pets  nor 
scape-goats  in  the  family  ;  she  meted  her  love  and  care 
equally  among  all.  She  did  not  teach  them  superstition, 
being  herself  free  from  all  prejudices  of  religion.  Wln-n 
the  Government  called  Dr.  Friedrich  Strauss,  the  famous 
author  of  the  "  Life  of  Jesus,"  to  teach  in  the  University 
of  Zurich,  she  petitioned  for  the  introduction  of  the  con- 
tents of  his  book  into  the  public  schools. 

Though  she  was  the  treasurer  of  all  the  earnings  of 
her  husband,  she  avoided  needless  expense,  wore  the 
same  dress  and  bonnet  year  after  year,  and  went  never  to 
parties,  notwithstanding  she  had  liked  dancing  much 
before  she  married.  She  liked  also  to  see  plays  when 
she  was  young;  but  although  she  lived  but  hall'  a  mile 
from  the  theater,  she  went  there  only  once  during  her 
whole  time  of  married  life.  She  never  spent  money  for 
wine,  except  the  day  before  she  died,  and  then  because 


ROSA  MILLKII.  99 


the  physician  Ivid  recommended  it  to  her  as  a  medicine. 

She  was  kind-hearted.  When  only  six  years  old,  she 
supported  her  aged  mother  with  the  money  she  earned 
by  her  needle- work.  As,  one  of  her  friends  who  owed 
IKT  S'JOO  was  in  distress  she  remitted  her  debt.  Her 
cousin  fell  mortally  sick  with  a  nervous  fever;  she 
nur-ed  her  by  day  and  night,  and  was  finally  infected 
by  the  same  malady,  which  nearly  ended  her  own  life. 
She  did  it  because  the  mother  of  her  friend  was  wealthy, 
and  aide  to  support  her  own  mother  in  future  when  she 
would  leave  Vienna,  and  go  to  Switzerland.  She  was 
instructor  in  needle-work  to  the  girls  in  her  husband's 
school,  and  gave  the  wages  she  earned  thereby  to  her 
brother-in-law  in  order  to  help  him  on  in  his  studies. 

When  she  suffered  from  rheumatism,  she  engaged,  by 
exception,  a  servant-girl  for  a  few  months.  After  some 
time  the  girl  also  was  affected  with  a  disease;  now  her 
mist  res-  mjrsed  her  like  her  own  child,  and  not  being 
able  to  walk  upright,  she  hobbled  on  crutches  to  the 
girl's  bedroom,  and  in  this  way  she  brought  her  the 
meals  and  medicines. 

Her  death  was  premature,  owing  to  an  accident.  She 
was  only  a  few  days  confined  to  bed.  After  a  profound 
sleep  she  sat  up  in  bed,  took  a  little  food,  then  having 
embraced  and  kissed  her  husband  and  children  affection- 
ately, she  sank  back  on  her  pillow  and  was  dead.  She 
was  then  thirty-eight  years  old.  She  died  a  sacrifice  for 
her  children.  The  whole  community  followed  her  to 
her  grave.  Peace  and  rest  to  her  ashes!  Her  death 
was  an  irreparable  loss  to  her  husband  and  children. 
Some  years  after  she  died,  her  husband  emigrated  with 
his  children  to  America  (1852). 


PART 


SKCOND, 


ROSA'S  LETTERS  ON  EDUCATION.. 


CULTURE  OF  THE  BODY. 

"There  arc  only  two  real  boons  of  human  life:  good  health 
ami  a  clear  conscience."  — J.  J.  ROUSSEAU'S  Emilf. 


FIRST  LETTER. 

OCCASION   AND  CONTENTS  Olf  THE   LETTERS. 

DEAR  FRIEND:  So  you  are  in  good  earnest,  concern- 
ii'.-r  your  request!  For  a  long  time  you  have  urged 
11  ic  to  communicate  you  my  opinions  and  advice  in  regard 
to  education ;  me  who  want  myself  so  much  of  instruction! 
You  think  that  because  I  have  six  children  I  must  have 
accumulated  a  treasure  of  pedagogic  wisdom,  and  you 
would  like  to  hear  the  narrative  of  the  education  of  my 
children.  That  can  be  given  in  tune;  meanwhile  I  will 
inform  you  of  the  views  of  professional  pedagogues,  and 
subjoin  modestly  only  what  my  own  meditation  and  ex- 
perience have  taught  me.  True,  I  could  direct  you  at 
once  to  those  pedagogues.  Except  in  parts  few  of  them 
have  written  expressly  for  our  sex,  and  besides  you  would 
not  find  in  their  single  writings  all  that  you  wish  to  know. 
Therefore  I  v.ill  cheerfully  undergo  the  little  toil  neces- 
sary to  select  and  adjust,  from  several  books,  what  will 
be  most  convenient  to  my  dear  friend,  hoping  thereby  to 
l>e  of  some  use  to  her.  In  my  next  letter  I  shall  inform 
you  of  some  works  which  are  most  adapted  to  our  sex. 
But  are  you  not  frightened  by  my  endeavor  to  become  a 


104  Tin:  EDUCATIM;  MOTHER. 

letter-writer  to  such  an  extent  ?  And  can  I  expect  that 
you  will  not  be  annoyed  by  reading  dry  maxims  of  edu- 
cation? Well,  after  all,  there  is  but  one  letter  to  read  at 
a  time,  and  1  shall  take  care  that  it  be  .short.  Generally, 
I  .should  advise  nobody  to  read  at  a  sitting  whole  books 
011  education;  but  an  occasional  reading  of  a  small  part, 
and  reflecting  earnestly  on  it  advances,  according  to  my 
experience,  the  work  of  education.  Therefore,  prepare 
yourself  for  a  long  corre.spodence  on  education,  and  ex- 
pect in  eight  days  niy  first  writing  on  this  topic ! 

Your  affectionate  friend,  ROSA. 

Ziirieh,  March  11,  18—. 


SECOND  LETTER. 

NOTION  AND   DESIGN    OF  EDUCATION — QUALITIES   OF  THE  EDfcAT- 
IN'G   MOTHER — LITERATURE   ON   EDUCATION*. 

I  commence  my  theme  with  the  question,  What 
signifies  the  word  "  educate "  ?  The  word  "  educate " 
(in  French  "elever"),  derived  from  the  Latin  "edw<n-> . 
cducere,"  means  "to  raise,"  "to  bring  up,"  and  is,  like  our  en- 
tire language,  an  image  which  reminds  us  of  the  upward- 
tending  plant.  Both  man  and  tree  want  culture  and  di- 
rection in  order  to  attain  their  destination.  But  what  is 
the  destination  of  the  child  ?  and  in  which  direction  must 
it  be  led  to  attain  it? 

I  is  destination  is  the  common  of  mankind :  to  be  happy 
by  a  noble-minded  activity.  This  seems  to  me  to  be  the 
only  aim  worthy  of  man  for  which  nature  may  have  formed 
him.  Or  ought  our  fate  to  be  distress  and  despair? 
Frederic  Schiller  says:  "Nobody  who  in  general  admits 
an  aim  in  nature  will  doubt  that  it  is  the  happiness  of 


TlIE    CYLTURE    OF    THE    BODY.  105 

man  though  man  himself  will  ignore  this  aim  in  his 
moral-1."  And  the  .same  sings  in  his  hymn  to  joy: — 

"  From  the  breasts  of  kindly  Nature 

All  of  joy  imbibe  the  dew; 
(Jood  and  bad  alike,  each  creature 
Would  her  roseate  path  pursue. " 

Therefore  I  call  to  you  with  my  compatriot,  Rousseau: 

Make  your  children  happy  in  all  periods  of  their  age, 
being  afraid  that  they  die  after  many  efforts  of  our  care- 
l'ulne.<-  In-fore  they  have  been  so. 

No\v,  which  arc  the  qualities  by  which  we  must  excel 
in  order  to  be  able  to  educate  well  our  children?  The 
first  and  last  will  forever  be :  Love  for  our  children,  which 
joins  mildness  and  patience  to  firmness  of  the  will,  and 
shines  in  high  faithfulness  to  our  vocation.  All  fashion- 
able, small  methods  do  not  supply  the  want  of  love  in 
education.  SaLzmann,  therefore,  puts  the  example  of  the 
1 1:1  ]••  'iits  at  the  head  of  his  book  of  "  Crab's  Gait ; "  an  ex- 
ample full  of  generosity,  kindness,  honesty,  carefulness — 
and,  with  a  word — of  love. 

But,  before  our  time,  too,  there  were  many  noble- 
minded  mothers  who  tenderly  loved  their  children ;  still 
many  of  them  must  have  seen  theirs  sink  into  the  grave, 
or  become  unhappy,  because  they  did  not  understand  how 
to  educate  them.  Knowledge  must  be  joined  to  love;  one 
cannot  bless  without  the  other.  The  farmer  raises  edible 
products,  but  they  thrive  and  are  finer,  safer,  richer,  by 
aid  from  the  hand  of  the  scientific  gardener. 

Now  if  fitted  out  with  these  two  qualities — love  and 
knowledge — you  carry  on  your  work,  there  is  no  doubt 
that  you  will  succeed  well.  True,  it  will  be  toilsome, but 
also  lull  of  inexpressibly  sweet  blessing;  the  happiness  of 
your  children  will  be  your  reward. 


106  Tn jo  EDUCATING  MOTHKI;. 


According  to  my  promise,  I  will  still  give  you  the  names 
of  some  books  on  education  from  which  you  can  derive  some 
advantage.  To  the  better  ones  belong :  First,  "  Emile,"  of 
J.  J.  Rousseau;  then  Salzmaun's  little  book  of  "Crab's 
(Jait,"  Niemeyer's  "Principles  of  Education  and  Instruc- 
tion;" Pestalozzi's  "  Lienhard  and  Gertrude ;"  J.  Locke's 
"Thoughts  Concerning  Education,"  in  which  his  object  is  t  <  > 
f'a-hion  a  gentleman  rather  than  a  scholar,  and  therefore 
he  lays  less  stress  on  learning  than  on  virtue,  breeding,  and 
practical  wisdom.  Finally,  "  The  Book  of  the  Mother," 
written  by  the  American  lady,  Anne  Kilch.  The  En- 
glishmen Baines  and  Herbert  Spencer  have  also  published 
celebrated  works  on  education,  but  they  are  better 
adapted  for  scholars  than  mothers.  The  "Lectures  on 
Education,"  of  the  American,  Horace  Mann,  the  best 
American  author  in  this  kind  of  literature,  are  excellent 
for  the  use  of  teachers;  they  teach  of  school  education. 
On  physical  training  the  Englishman  Chavasse  has  pub- 
lished a  fine  book,  Chavassc's  "Physical  Training  of 
Cliildren"  (Philadelphia). 

Hermann  Niemeyer's  work  is  the  best  among  all  Ger- 
man books  on  education,  though  too  extensive  and  learned. 
That  most  practical  for  parents  is  contained  in  the  first 
half  of  the  first  volume.  "  Levana,"  of  Jean  Paul  Rich- 
ter,  is,  indeed,  explicitly  written  for  women,  but  it  seems 
to  me  only  for  scholarly  ones.  As  F  had  heard  many 
praise  the  work  highly,  I  took  it  with  great  expectation 
into  my  hand  ;  but  I  found  the  author  so  abominably 
learned  and  witty  that  women  like  you  and  I  must  often, 
apply  the  mind  to  one  sentence  for  a  day  in  order  to  un- 
derstand it.  No,  I  am  pleased  with  Rousseau's  plain 
language,  who,  besides,  without  roundabouts,  directly 


THE  CULTURE  OF  THE  BODY.      107 

speaks  out  the  matter.  Rousseau  is  called  by  Niemeyer 
a  pedagogic  genius.  His  book  "  Emile  "  was  immediately, 
when  it  appeared,  idolized  and  burnt  on  the  stake. 
Speaking  of  him,  Schiller  says : — 

Moment  of  our  age's  shame, 

On  thy  country  casting  endless  blame, 

Rousseau's  grave,  how  clear  thou  art  to  me! 

Calm  repose  he  to  thy  ashes  blest. 

In.  thy  life  thou  vainly  sought'st  for  rest, 

But  at  length  'twas  here  obtained  by  thee. 

When  will  ancient  wounds  be  cover'd  o'er  ? 

Wise  men  died  in  heathen  days  of  yore; 

Now  'tis  lighter,  yet  they  die  again. 

Socrates  was  killed  by  Sophists  vile, 

Rousseau  meets  his  death  through  Christians'  wile, 

Rousseau — who  would  fain  make  Christians  men. " 

Both  Pestalozzi  and  Rousseau  were  Swiss.  To  the 
latter  one  his  country  has  raised  a  monument  in  our  age. 
In  this  way  time  changes. 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

TWO  SAD  CASES  OF  CARELESS  MOTHEBS. 

Mrs.  L.  had  a  baby  about  a  year  old,  when  the  shoe- 
maker was  mending  boots  and  shoes  in  her  house  for  the 
family.  As  he  went  away  he  left  bits  of  leather  and 
several  tacks  on  the  floor.  The  little  child  creeping 
around  picked  up  a  tack  from  the  floor,  put  it  into  the 
mouth,  as  little  ones  are  used  to  put  everything  into  it, 
and  swallowed  the  nail.  It  penetrated  the  bowels,  raising 
there  a  fatal  inflammation.  The  parents  perceived  the 
accident  too  late;  they  sent  for  the  physician,  but  he 
could  not  save  the  little  patient ;  the  child  died  amidst 
terrible  pains.  "When  it  was  buried  the  mother  shed  hot 
tears  while  standing  at  the  grave  of  her  darling,  and  the 


108  Tin:  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 


father  withdrew  her  trying  to  comfort  her.     But  could 
lie  return  the  child  to  the  poor  mother? 

Mrs.  B.  had  six  children.  One  day  the  youngest  one, 
who  was  not  vet  able  to  walk,  sat  playing  on  the  floor. 
When  the  mother  left  the  room  it  crept  around,  and 
found  a  bundle  of  matches  on  the  floor.  It  bit  off  their 
heads,  which  were  covered  with  phosphorus,  and  gulped 
them  down.  On  the  mother's  return  she  did  not  notice 
at  once  what  the  child  meanwhile  had  eaten  ;  it  fell  ,-ick, 
and  the  physician  was  called  for,  who  found  out  that  it 
was  poisoned.  It  could  not  recover,  and  must  die. 

A    LOVING    MOTHER.* 

Miss  Fantine  had  never  known  cither  father  or 
mother.  She  was  a  charming  blonde,  with  handsome 
teeth.  She  was  a  seamstress  in  Paris,  working  for  a 
livelihood,  and  she  loved.  But  her  lover  seduced  her,  and 
then  left  her  with  a  child.  What  was  she  to  do  now? 
She  needed  courage,  and  she  had  it.  The  idea  occurred 
to  her  of  returning  to  her  native  town.  There  someone 
might  know7  her,  and  give  her  work.  She  suckled  her 
child,  this  bent  her  chest,  and  she  was  coughing  a  little. 
In  order  to  hide  her  fault,  she  left  the  child,  whose  name 
was  Coselte,  at  M.,  in  charge  of  a  woman,  who  also 
had  two  little  children,  and  who  promised  her  to  take 
good  care  of  the  child.  The  name  of  the  woman  was 
Mrs.  Thenardier.  Fantine  had  to  pay  her  seventy-five 
(Vanes  for  six  months'  nursing,  in  advance.  She  had 
saved  eighty  francs  by  hard  working,  and  said,  "  I  shall 
earn  money  at  home,  and  as  soon  as  I  have  a  little  I  will 
come  and  fetch  my  darling."  "But  has  the  little  one  a 


"Victor  Hugo  in  "Lcs  Miserable.-:,"  chap,  35. 


THE  CULTURE  OF  THE  BODY.  109 

stock  of  clothing?"  asked  Mr.  Thenardier.  "Of  course 
she  luis  clothes,"  replied  Fantine,  "a  dozen  of  everything, 
and  silk  frocks  like  a  lady."  "They  must  be  handed 
over,"  the  man  remarked.  "Of  course  they  must," 
said  the  mother;  "it  would  be  funny  if  I  left  my 
child  naked."  She  went  home  on  foot  crying  as  if 
her  heart  was  broken,  and  was  employed  in  a  fac- 
tory. But  the  foster-parents  of  Cosette  were  greedy. 
Before  the  end  of  the  first  year  they  demanded  twelve 
francs  a  month  for  the  nursing  of  Cosette.  The  mother 
submitted  and  sent  the  twelve  francs.  Fantine  had 
been  more  than  a  year  in  the  factory,  when  one  morn- 
ing the  forewoman  handed  her  fifty  francs  and  told 
her  that  she  was  no  longer  engaged,  and  had  better 
leave  the  town.  Some  curious  gossips  had  found  out 
the  fault  of  Fantine,  and  made  it  known  to  all.  It 
was  at  this  very  time  that  Mr.  Thenardier  raised  a 
claim  lor  fifteen  instead  of  twelve  francs.  Fantine  was 
crushed.  She  was  advised  to  see  M.  Madeleine,  owner  of 
the  factory,  but  did  not  dare  do  so.  She  set  to  work 
making  coarse  shirts  for  the  troops,  and  earned  at  this 
sixpence  a  day.  She  sold  most  of  her  furniture,  even  her 
bed,  and  was  entirely  without  fire  in  winter.  Excessive 
labor  fatigued  her,  the  little  dry  cough  she  had  grew 
\vor-e,  and  she  felt  a  cold  perspiration  in  her  back. 

Mr.  Thenardier  pressed  her  for  more  money,  because 
Cosette  wanted  a  flannel  skirt.  Fantine  went  to  a  bar- 
ber's, and  removed  her  comb;  her  splendid  light  hair  fell 
dn\\!i  to  her  hips.  ""What  fine  hair!"  the  barber  ex- 
claimed. "  What  will  you  give  me  for  it?  "  she  answered. 
"Ten  francs."  "Cut  it  off."  She  bought  a  flannel  skirt 
and  sent  it  to  Cosette.  She  thought,  "My  child  is  no 


110  Tin:  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

longer  cold,  for  I  have  dressed  her  in  my  hair."  She 
wore  small  round  caps  which  hid  her  .-horn  head.  But 
Mrs.  Thenardier  gave  the  flannel  skirt  to  her  own  child, 
and  the  poor  Cosette  continued  to  shiver. 

One  day  Fantine  received  from  Mr.  Thenardier  a  letter 
hy  which  he  wanted  forty  francs,  pretending  that  COM -tie 
was  sick  from  a  malarial  fever.  A  dentist  offered  Fantine 
two  napoleons  (forty  francs)  if  she  liked  to  sell  him  her 
two  top  front  teeth.  She  shuddered,  and  first  hesitated, 
but  finally  submitted  to  the  operation,  received  forty 
francs  for  her  front  teeth,  and  sent  the  money  to  Mr. 
Thenardier.  It  had  been  only  a  trick  of  the  rascal  to 
get  money,  for  Cosette  was  not  ill. 

1  Fantine  grew  poorer  and  poorer,  and  her  sickno- 
increased.  She  had  no  bed  left,  only  a  mattress  on  the 
ground.  M.  Madeleine  having  heard  her  story  fook 
pity  on  her,  conveyed  her  to  the  infirmary  he  had  estab- 
lished in  his  own  house,  and  promised  her  to  send  lor  her 
child.  Now  she  felt  happy.  "I  shall  see  Cosette,"  >hc 
said,  "I  shall  feel  the  blessings  of  Heaven,  when  my  child 
is  here;  I  shall  look  at  her,  and  it  will  dome  good  to  sec 
the  innocent  creature."  M.  Madeleine  went  to  see  her 
twice  a  day,  and  every  time  she  asked  him :  "  Shall  I  see 
my  Cosette  soon?  O  how  happy  I  shall  be!" 

But  Fantine's  fever  became  worse,  she  Avas  coughing 
fearfully,  and  spent  a  part  of  the  night  in  raving  and 
talking  aloud.  She  was  rapidly  sinking,  and  after  some 
nights  she  died.  Her  last  words  were,  "And  Cosette?" 

HOW   A  MOTHER   SYMPATHIZES  WITH    II EK    VAY\\AJ:l>   SON.* 

Claude  Melnotte,  the  son  of  a  gardener  in  Lyons,  saw  the 

*From  Bulwer  Lytton's  popular  drama,  "The  Lady  of  Lyons,"  fourth  act, 
first  scene. 


THE  CULTURE  OF  THE  BODY.  Ill 

charming,  rich,  but  proud  young  lady,  Miss  Pauline 
Deschappelles,  often  in  the  garden  of  her  father,  and  fell 
in  a  frantic  love  with  her.  In  order  to  make  himself 
worthy  of  her  possession,  he  applied  fervently  to  sciences 
and  arts,  became  a  midnight  student,  a  poet,  a  painter, 
and  a  fencer.  At  last  he  declared  to  her  in  a  letter  his 
love,  but  was  scornfully  refused,  his  love  epistle  returned, 
and  his  messenger  insulted  with  blows.  Two  other 
adorers  of  the  lady,  wealthy  patricians,  were  also  rejected 
by  her.  In  order  to  take  revenge  they  promised  Mel- 
notte,  of  whose  failure  they  were  informed,  to  help  him 
to  the  possession  of  the  lady.  They  furnished  him  con- 
u-iii'-nt  dresses,  besides  all  the  money  he  wanted,  and 
introduced  him  as  the  Prince  of  Como  to  the  proud 
Pauline  and  her  pompous  mother.  The  parents  soon 
promised  him  the  hand  of  their  daughter.  The  rites  of 
matrimony  were  solemnized,  and  Melnotte  carried  the 
young  bride  to  his  humble  dwelling.  But  here  he  con- 
fessed to  her  who  he  was,  at  the  same  time  protesting  that 
he  would  not  consider  her  as  his  wife,  the  marriage  con- 
t  ract  being  a  fraud.  He  returned  her  to  her  father,  and 
enlisted  in  the  French  army,  where  he,  by  exploits  and  good 
fortune,  advanced  to  a  high  military  rank.  Pauline  \\  as 
faithful  to  him.  After  some  years  he  returned  from  the 
army  and  saved  her  father  from  bankruptcy,  who  con- 
sented to  her  marriage  with  the  gardener's  son. 

|  M<- 1, ml  ft?  a  cottage.     Melnotte  seated  before  a  table,  wi-itimj 

implements,  etc.,  etc.     Daij  breaking!] 

Melnotte.  Hush,  hush!  she  sleeps  at  last!  Thank 
Heaven,  for  a  while  she  forgets  even  that  I  live !  Her 
sohs,  which  have  gone  to  my  heart  the  whole  long,  des- 
olate night  have  ceased!  all  calm  and  still!  I  will  go 
now.  I  will  send  this  letter  to  Pauline's  father. 

[enter  widow,  Melnotte's  mother. 


112  Tin:  KDTTVPINC  MOTIIKI;. 


H"/Vo/r.  My  son,  thou  Jiasl  acted  ill;  but  sin  brings  its 
own  punishment.  In  the  hour  of  thy  remorse,  it  is  not 
for  a  mother  to  reproach  thee. 

Mel.  What  is  past  is  past.  There  is  a  future  left  to 
all  men,  who  have  the  virtue  to  repent,  and  the  energy  to 
atone.  Thou  shalt  be  proud  of  thy  son  yet.  1  shall 
send  an  express  last  as  horses  can  speed  to  her  father. 
Farewell,  I  shall  return  shortly. 

IT  It  is  the  only  course  left  to  thee;  thou  wert  led 
astray,  but  thou  art  not  hardened.  Thy  heart  is  right 
still,  as  ever  it  was  when,  in  thy  most  ambitious  hopes, 
thou  wert  never  ashamed  of  thy  poor  mother. 

Mel.  Ashamed  of  thee  ?    No !   Heaven  bless  you ! 

IF.  My  dear  Claude.     How  my  heart  bleeds  for  him. 

[exit. 
[Pauline  looks  down  from  above,  and  after  a  pmi*<>  di-wml*. 

Pauline.  Not  here!  he  spares  me  that  pain  at  last ;  so 
far  lie  is  considerate,  yet  the  place  seems  still  more  des- 
olate without  him.  Oh,  that  I  could  hate  him,  the 
gardener's  son!  and  yet  how  nobly  he — no,  no,  no,  1  will 
not  be  so  mean  a  thing  as  to  forgive  him! 

IF.  Good-morning,  madam;  1  would  have  waited  on 
you  if  T  had  known  you  were  stirring. 

]'.  It  is  no  matter,  ma'am,  your  son's  wife  ought  to 
wait  on  herself. 

TF.  My  son's  wife!  let  not  that  thought  vex  you, 
madam;  he  tells  me  that  you  will  have  your  divorce. 
And  I  hope  1  shall  live  to  see  him  smile  again.  There 
are  maidens  in  this  village,  young  and  fair,  madam,  who 
may  yet  console  him. 

P.  I  dare  say — they  are  very  welcome — and  when  the 
divorce  is  got — he  will  marry  again.  I  am  sure  I  hope 
so.  [?<vr//x. 

W.  He  could  have  married  the  richest  girl  in  the 
province,  if  he  had  pleased  it;  but  his  head  was  turned, 
poor  child;  he  could  think  of  nothing  but  you.  [_iri'rj>x. 

P.  Don't  weep,  mother. 

H'.  Ah,  he  has  behaved  very  ill,  I  know,  but  love  is  s  > 
headstrong  in  the  young.  Don't  weep,  madam. 


THE  CULTURE  OF  THE  BODY.  11.3 

P.  So,  as  you  were  saying — go  on. 

IT.  Oh,  I  cannot  excuse  him,  ma'am,  he  was  not  in  his 
right  senses. 

P.  But  he  always,  always  [sobbing]  loved — loved  me, 
then? 

W.  He  thought  of  nothing  else.  See  here,  he  learnt 
to  paint  that  he  might  take  your  likeness  [uncovers  Pau- 
line's picture].  But  that's  all  over  now.  I  trust  you  have 
cured  him  of  his  folly;  but,  dear  heart,  you  have  had  no 
breakfast ! 

P.  I  can't  take  anything ;  don't  trouble  yourself. 

W.  Nay,  madam,  be  persuaded ;  a  little  coffee  will  re- 
fresh you.  Our  milk  and  eggs  are  excellent.  I  will  get 
out  Claude's  coffee-cup,  it  is  real  Sevres ;  *  he  saved  up 
all  his  money  to  buy  it  three  years  ago,  because  the  name 
of  Pauline  was  inscribed  on  it. 

P.  Three  years  ago !  Poor  Claude ! — Thank  you ;  I — 
think  I  will  have  some  coffee 


THIRD   LETTER. 

MEANS     OF     PHYSICAL     CULTURE— AIR,      WATER,      WASHING     AND 
BATHING,    LIGHT   AND   WARMTH,    CLOTHING   AND   BEDDING. 

The  seat  of  all  suffering  is  the  body ;  how  could  we, 
then,  be  indifferent  to  its  condition?  What  mother  is 
not  afflicted  by  sorrow  if  one  of  her  darlings  falls  sick  ? 
Sickness  is  the  harbinger  of  death ;  what  mother  is  not 
set  trembling  by  it  for  the  life  of  her  child  ?  To  the  con- 
trary, how  relieved  and  overjoyed  she  is  at  the  aspect  of 
healthy,  blooming  children,  full  of  sprightliness  and  life ! 
That  weakness  and  disease  of  the  body  also  prevent 
mental  culture ;  that  the  mind  wants  its  bodily  companion 
to  accomplish  its  designs ;  that  obstinacy,  irritability,  and 
laziness  of  the  children  have  often  their  source  in  the 
unnatural  condition  of  the  body:  I  shall  keep  silence,  as 


•In  Sevres  is  a  famous  manufactory  of  flue  chinawarea. 
8 


114  Tin.  EDUCATING 


you  would  persuade  yourself  of  the  importance  of  the 
physical  culture  already  by  my  preceding  remarks.  But 
from  those  follows  also  our  duty  l<»  take  all  care  of  the 
life  and  good  health  of  our  children.  Principally  it  i< 
you,  l)eing  the  mother,  from  whom  both  depend  in  the 
first  periods  of  life.  The  sad  fact  that  a  fourth  of  all 
children  who  are  born  annually,  die  in  the  year  after 
their  birth,  results,  in  a  great  measure,  from  the  ignorance 
of  the  mothers  as  how  to  manage  the  body  of  the  infant. 
Therefore  I  shall  deliver  you  the  most  necessary  advices 
concerning  this  part  of  education. 

The  welfare  of  the  child  ought  to  be  considered  by 
the  parents,  especially  by  the  mother,  already  before  it- 
birth.  The  moderate  enjoyment  of  the  connubial  love  is 
the  condition  of  healthy,  talented  children.  During 
pregnancy  have  regard  to  dressing  and  food;  then  avoid 
grief,  sorrow,  all  impressions  of  strong  passions;  take 
care  of  violent  motion  and  concussion.  Now  we  sup- 
pose that  the  child  is  born,  that  it  rests  in  your  arms. 
Several  powers  now  exert  their  influence  upon  its  body, 
—  air,  water,  light,  warmth,  and  food. 

Air.  Pure  air  is  the  first  condition  for  the  natural 
course  of  vital  process;  without  it  there  is  no  beauty,  no 
cheerfulness,  no  strength  imaginable.  Men  are  like 
plants.  Air  is  sometimes  even  a  remedy,  e.  g.,  for  the 
rickets  and  scrofula.  Therefore,  let  the  children  often 
move  in  the  open,  and  always  in  the  pure  air.  Keep 
far  from  them  everything  which  infects  the  atmosphere. 
The  nursery  ought  to  be  spacious,  clear,  dry,  and  fre- 
quently ventilated. 

]}'nfr,-  \<  not  only  the  healthiest  drink  for  children, 
but,  outwardly  used,  strengthens  their  body,  refreshes  their 


TIIK  CULTURE  OF  THE  BODY.  115 


limbs,  cleans  the  surface  of  the  skin,  and  furthers  the 
perspiration.  Consequently,  it  is  one  of  tin-  most  indis- 
pensable maternal  -duties  to  wash  and  bathe  the  little 
ones  frequently.  Bathe  your  children  almost  every  day 
till  the  fourth  year,  first  in  warm  water,  as  warm  as  your 
elbow  can  stand  it;  then  let  it  become  by  degrees  more 
and  more  tepid.  From  the  fourth  year  forward,  wash,  even 
as  frequently  as  before,  their  head  and  whole  body  with 
a  clean  sponge ;  even  then,  bathing  must  not  be  entirely 
left  undone.  Moreover,  is  it  necessary  to  mention  still 
expressly  that  you  must  not  spare  all  this  time  fresh 
linen  ? 

L'ujhl  nini  ii'i/rintli  are  to  the  child  as  indispensable  as 
to  the  flower;  but  it  is  not  easy  to  hit  always  the  right 
measure  of  both.  New-born  ones  should  rest  with  'the 
mother.  The  feet  want  particular  care;  they  should 
never  be  chilled.  A  celebrated  Dutch  physician,  Dr. 
Boerhaavc,  held  the  following  rule  to  be  the  quin- 
tessence of  all  medical  wisdom : — 

"Wilt  thou  become  old, 
Keep  the  feet  warm,  the  stomach  empty,  the  head  cold." 

But  a  too  high  degree  of  heat  must  also  be  avoided ; 
tor  instance,  a  light,  thin  necktie,  a  jacket  which  reaches 
to  the  neck,  and  does  not  fit  tight,  finally  a  light  little 
hat ;  that  is  all  that  is  wanted  in  a  cold  climate.  The 
limbs  ought  to  be  unconstrained  by  the  clothing.  There- 
fore Jean  Paul  says,  "  Let  the  boys  run  barefoot."  The 
pantaloons  ought  to  be  wide  and  comfortable;  but  before 
the  third  year  they  are  unnecessary.  Little  children 
may  sleep  on  feather  beds;  from  the  sixth  year  forward 
they  should  have  blankets  or  (milts  of  cotton;  under- 


116  THE  EDUCATING  M<>im,i;. 

be.  Is,  filled  with  feathers,  can  sooner  be   removed.     Till 
then  they  m;iy  also  sleep  in  warmed  room-. 

Perl  inning  to  I  lie  use  of  light,  only  a  few  words  :uv 
necessary.  It  is  hurtful  if  the  beds  are  set  in  sueh  n 
way  that  the  sun  rays  or  the  moonlight  strike  directly 
the  eyes  of  the  children.  Window  curtains  shelter  them 
against  such  an  annoyance.  The  cradle  ought  to  be 
placed  in  .such  a  manner  that  very  bright  objects  cannot 
strike  the  eye  of  the  child  from  the  side,  lest  it  turn 
squinting. 

ILLUSTRA  TIONS* 

Mrs.  Eve  was  taken  with  the  fancy  that  nothing  was 
more  conducive  to  her  child's  health  than  warmth. 
Therefore  she  let  her  room  be  excessively  heated.  Usu- 
ally heating  began  in  the  middle  of  September  and  was 
continued  till  the  beginning  of  June.  The  child  had  to 
sleep  in  this  room.  Perhaps  it  had  also  a  warming-bottle, 
and  was  so  bundled  up  in  cushions  that  it  dripped  with 
per.- pi  rat  ion.  The  child  grew  more  and  more  feeble,  and 
finally,  as  the  servant-girl  carried  it  by  mistake  into  a 
draught  of  air,  it  caught  a  choking  rheum,  and  died.  It 
was  a  plant  which  was  raised  in  a  room,  and  withers  as 
soon  as  it  is  exposed  to  the  open  air. 

Her  sister  thought :  "  I  will  take  care  of  that ;  my 
child  must  betiine  be  used  to  cold."  For  that  reason  she 
let  the  nurse  carry  out  her  little  son  in  the  fiercest 
weather,  and  sometimes  bathed  him  in  water  cold  as  ice. 
For  the  rest,  she  heated  her  room  as  much  as  her  sister. 
The  child  had  also  no  lighter  bedding  than  the  children 

*Most  of  the  illustrations  are  taken  from  >Sal/maim's  l>ook, 
"Crab's  Gait." 


THE  CVi/ruRK  OF  THE  BODY.  117 

of  her  sister.  Consequently,  us  once  his  mother  liad  un- 
dressed liiin  of  the  shirt  which  dripped  from  sweating, 
and  held  him  into  a  tub  filled  with  cold  water,  he  dis- 
torted thl;  eyes,  and  followed  his.  little  cousin  into  eternity. 

A    REASONABLE    PHYSICIAN. 

Another  said  to  the  physician,  who  paid  her  a  visit : 
"God  charged  me  with  a  heavy  cross.  Look  here  at 
the  three  poor  creatures!  The  eyes  of  one  are  closed  by 
liberation;  this  one  has  swollen  legs,  and  the  third 
suffers  from  pains  in  the  'ears."  The  physician  answered : 
"My  dear  ma'am,  that  is  no  cross,  but  a  calamity  which 
you  charge  yourself  with.  Wherefore  that  wash-tub  in 
the  nursery?  and  these  shirts  you  attached  round  the 
stove?  Hereby  the  whole  room  must  become  entirely 
dump.  Look,  how  wet  the  walls  are.  Can  you  under- 
stand that  you  deprive,  thereby,  your  poor  children  of 
their  health?  And  wherefore  these  beds?  Your  chil- 
dren sleep  in  them?  Alas,  my  dear!  you  are  the  mur- 
deress of  your  children,  because  you  do  not  let  them 
enjoy  fresh  air.  If  you  want  to  wash,  do  it  in  the  yard, 
or  up  the  loft !  There  hang  up  the  wash  !  Let  the  chil- 
dren sleep  in  a  bedroom,  and  keep  the  windows  open 
every  day  that  the  air  can  pass  through.  I  warrant  you 
that  you  then  will  have  healthy  children. 


FOURTH    LETTER." 

CONTINUATION— NOURISHMENT— SUCKLING    OF  TIIK   CHILD — PLAN 
OK   DIET   FOR  CHILDREN. 

The  food  you  give  to  the  children  must  be  clean,  and 
dealt  out  to  them  neither  too  scantily  nor  too  copiously. 
Not  that  what  we  eat  nourishes  us,  but  what  we  digest; 
from  the  outward  extent  you  cannot  surely  infer  the 


THE  EDUCATING 


interior  health  of  the  body.  Nobody  i.s  born  a  glutton, 
but  ninny  are  raised  so.  S>  inucli  in  general.  .Now 
some  words  on  the  nourishment  in  the  first  period  of  life: 
The  wholesoinest  nourishment  for  the  new-born  child 
i.-  deposited  by  Nature  in  the  bosom  of  the  mother. 
Therefore  every  mother  ought  to  suckle  her  child  her- 
self. Nature  has  given  to  woman  breasts  and  milk  in 
order  to  enable  her  to  nourish  her  children.  Only  sel- 
dom (not,  as  Niemeyer  has  it,  often),  Nature  releases 
the  mother  of  this  sweet  duty;  only  few  mothers  are 
lacking  the  strength  and  milk-stuff  to  fulfill  it.  Its  non- 
performance,  anyhow,  causes  harm  to  both  the  mother 
and  child;  sometimes  even  the  most  painful  of  all  fe- 
male diseases,  cancer  of  the  womb,  is  the  result  of  hav- 
ing neglected  this  duty  to  which  nature  has  bound 
woman.  S>me  hours  after  the  delivery  the  suckling 
inav  and  should  be  put  to  the  breast.  For  the  first 
months  it  is  most  advisable  to  keep  the  child  only  by 
the  breast;  this  does  not 'exceed  the  strength  of  a 
healthy  mother;  but,  in  this  case,  she  must  live  on  milk- 
giving  food.  In  later  time  the  suckling  receives,  be- 
sides the  breast,  mush  of  biscuit,  rolls  or  sago-powder. 
Not  till  in  the  eighth  or  ninth  month,  when  the  teeth 
appear,  is  it  time  to  wean  it  by  degrees.  For  the  rest 
of  infancy  the  following  plan  of  fare  can  serve  you  as  an 
example:  For  Ig-eakfast,  cow-milk  (still  warm  from  the 
cow,  if  possible);  at  !>  o'clock,  fruit,  with  bread  or 
marmalade  of  plums  ;  at  noon,  soup,  seme  meat  and 
vegetables,  <>i-  »'icc,  barley-groats,  etc.,  etc.,  besides  water 
01-  well-fermented  small-beer;  at  A  o'clock  the  same  as  at 
forenoon;  supper,  temj>erate;  an  hour  after  it — to  bed. 


THE  CULTURE  OP  THE  BODY.  Hi) 

ILLUSTRATION. 

If  there  was  ever  one  who  cherished  his  children,  Mr. 
Flabby  certainly  was  the  man.  When  he  thought  that 
one  of  them  would  sooner  or  later  die,  he  was  inconsol- 
able. For  that  reason  he  chose  all  their  provisions 
with  great  care. 

"  Milk,"  he  used  to  say,  "  must  not  be  given  to  chil- 
dren on  any  account,  for  it  causes  slime.  Some  cups  of 
coffee  are  the  most  wholesome  breakfast.  Fruit  con- 
tain>  too  much  acid,  there  are  examples  of  children  who, 
having  eaten  fruit, died  of  diarrhoea.  Mary,  never  at- 
tempt to  give  the  children  fruit.  I  don't  tolerate  such  a 
thing  in  my  house.  1  would  not  risk  bread  and  butter, 
either;  butter,  being  an  oily  substance,  is  apt  to  hurt 
tin-  stomach.  Dry  bread  breeds  worms.  Indeed,  an 
almond  cake  is  the  best  breakfast  for  children." 

His  children  are  not  permitted  to  eat  vegetables,  by 
no  means !  They  puff  up  and  press  the  stomach.  A 
well-spired  soup  and  pori  are  good  nutriment  for  them. 
Water  weakens  the  stomach,  but  wine  and  beer  give 
them  strength.  It  is  also  conducive  to  children  to  give 
them,  after  dinner,  some  cups  of  tea. 

In  this  way  Mr.  Flabby  was  used  to  talk,  and  in  this 
manner  he  brought  up  his  children.  Still  he  enjoyed 
little  pleasure  from  them.  There  was  no  growth  in 
them ;  their  complexions  were  pale,  their  limbs  feeble. 
They  seldom  had  a  Avish  to  mingle  in  the  merry  plays 
of  other  children.  The  one  died  from  a  cold  drink,  and 
the  other  .-till  lives,  though  he  is  unfit  for  any  kind  of 
work. 


120  Tin;  EDUCATING  MOTIIIJ,. 

FIFTH    LETTER. 

CONCLUSION — MOTION — ROCKING    IN     THE    CRADLE — PLAYS — f!YM- 
NASTIC    EXERCISES — REST. 

Nourishment  and  motion  both  are  means,  almost 
equally  necessary,  to  conserve  life,  health  and  strength 
of  the  body.  A  sedentary  life  causes  thick  blood ;  this, 
physical  disorder  and  melancholy;  this,  diseases,  despair 
and — death.  Hence,  what  are  most  book  men  ?  Feeble, 
sickly  persons.  Now,  children  like  to  move  around. 
oh,  grant  them  motion!  The  suckling  wants  already 
liberty  of  limbs,  let  him  have  it.  Do  not  tie  his  hands 
and  feet,  as  with  fetters;  he  ought  to  be  permitted  to  pull 
and  stretch  them.  He  should  sometimes  be  left  lying 
on  the  bed,  untied,  free  to  stir  about.  Later,  from  the 
ninth  month,  let  him  crawl  upon  cloth  and  carpet-; 
Liive  him,  also,  a  ball  for  that.  Rousseau  lets  ICmile 
learn  to  walk  in  the  grass. 

Rocking  of  children  in  the  cradle  is,  according  to 
some  pedagogues,  detrimental,  or,  at  best,  rather  SIIIXT- 
tluous.  But,  after  all,  nothing  can  be  objected  to,  sii]>- 
posing  that  a  child  be  not  rocked  too  frequently  nor  too 
violently.  If  older  pupils  are  kept  closely  conlined  for 
any  length  of  time,  walks,  little  journeys  on  foot,  gar- 
dening,  turning,  joiners'  work,  etc.,  etc.,  are  good  exer- 
cises for  them. 

S.)iiie  plays  and  the  gymnastic  exercises  form  motions 
which  are  particularly  worthy  of  notice.  The  latter  are 
culled  so  from  the  (Jreek  work  ijijmn.o*,  that  is,  naked  ; 
tin-  in  Greece  they  were  performed  with  disrobed  bodies. 
They  are  useful  in  many  ways.  They  promote  physical 
agility  and  efficacy  in  general.  They  make  the  young 
man  more  independent,  freer.  They  protect  and 


Tin:  CULTURE  OF  THE  BODY.  121 


him  in  many  a  danger.  They  afford  the  youth  a  fine 
demeanor,  a  linn  attitude,  and  contribute  .to  the  hand- 
some form  of  the  body.  Finally,  they  advance  also 
mental  culture.  The  ancient  Greeks  understood  their 
importance  better  than  AVC  of  modern  times.  Who  does 
not  know  the  Olympian  games  ?  Still  they  commenced 
also  in  our  age,  here  and  there,  to  give  them  a  closer 
attention.  Xay,  the  Legislature  of  the  Canton  of  Zurich 
did  not  think  it  to  be  below  their  dignity  to  recommend 
these  exercises  as  a  branch  of  public  instruction.  They 
an- joined,  in.  several  Swiss  cantons,  to  the  juvenile  fes- 
tivals, which  are  also  a  pleasant  phenomenon  of  our  age. 
1  recommend  them,  therefore,  to  your  particular  atten- 
tion. 

( Jymnastic  exercises  for  children  are: 

Different  k'uxl*  of  Drh'iiHj  a  B<ill,  e.  (/.,  the  tennis. 

Raciny.     At  first  the  bounds  are  not  set  far  off;  head 
and  chest  are  free;  the  upper  garment  is  thrown  off. 
\\'i->-*fl!n<f.     Animosity  must  be  there  avoided. 

JJ't/intdng.  At  first  the  children  stand  upon  one 
foot,  then  several  place  themselves  side  by  side,  handing 
or  tin-owing  over  something  to  each  other;  they  pass 
over  narrow  bridges  without  rails,  over  beams,  boards, 
over  the  edge  of  a  plank,  etc.,  etc. 

SwiininiiHj.  It  is  done  most  properly  in  the  evenings, 
because  the  water  is  then  warmest.  The  stomach  must 
not  be  clogged  nor  the  body  heated.  Attention  is  to  he 
paid  to  the  decorum. 

Kfoitiiii/.  The  most  healthful  and  cultivating  exercise 
for  boys,  and  youths  more  advanced  in  age,  and  even  for 
girls  it  is  found  to  be  beneficial. 

Dancing  must  not  grow  to  a  passion.      Dear 


122  Tin:  KJMT.VTINC  MOTIM;I;. 

friend,  set  bounds  to  tin-  love  of  tin-  dunce  to  your 
daughters  when  they  are  blooming.  At  \>:i\\>  !>,•  the 
tutelar  genius  of  their  innocence,  lions-can  lends  his 
pupil  not  to  dancing-hall.-:,  but  over  rocks,  and  slippery 
tracks. 

At  all  plays,  superintendence,  precaution  and  gradual 
exercise,  according  to  tbe  forces  of  the  pupil,  ought  to 
take  place. 

In  conclusion  of  my  letter  I  wish  yet  to  say  a  word 
about  the  rest  of  the  body.  Children  like  so  much  to 
sleep;  do  not  grudge  them,  by  any  means,  the  golden 
slumber.  Sleep  restores  their  lost  forces.  Jt  is  known 
that  they  sleep  almost  downright  awav  the  first  months 
of  their  life;  but  later,  too,  from  the  second  to  the  fifth 
year,  they  dan-  and  should  >leep  in  the  day-time,  in  de- 
creasing ratio,  from  four  to  one  hour.  Even  the  youth 
does  not  sleep  too  much  if  you  grant  him  eight  hours  in 
summer  and  nine  in  winter.  Little  children  like  to 
prattle  before  felling  asleep.  How  is  this  to  be  helped? 
Sing  or  speak  to  them  softly,  lower  and  lower.  Let 
silence  hovel-  around  their  resting-place. 


SIX T If    LETTER. 

[I  commuicate  you  the  following  remarks  from  an  American  author,*  be- 
cause they  are  also  adapted  to  our  i/irl-,  and  female  students.] 

EPOCH    OF    DEVELOPMENT   OF   CIRLS. 

The  age  of  fourteen  to  twenty  years  is  the  epoch  of 
development  of  girls.  Mothers  should  be  wisely  anxious 
about  this  epoch,  especially  in  the  catamenial  weeks  of 
their  daughters.  Nature  has  reserved  the  catamenial 
week  for  the  process  of  ovulation,  and  for  the  development 

*  "  Sex  in  Education,"  by  Dr.  E.  H.  Clarke,  Boston. 


THE  CULTURE  OP  THE  BODY.      123 

and  perfection  of  the  reproductive  system.  Unless  the 
reproductive  organism  is  built  and  put  in  good  working 
order  at  that  time,  it  is  never  perfectly  accomplished  af- 
terwards. It  is  not  enough  to  take  precautions  till  men- 
struation has  for  the  first  time  occurred ;  the  period  for 
its  return  should,  even  in  the  healthiest  girl,  be  watched 
for,  and  all  previous  precautions  should  be  once  more  re- 
peated ;  and  this  should  be  done  again  and  again,  until 
at  length  the  habit  of  regular,  healthy  menstruation  is 
established.  If  this  be  not  accomplished  during  the  first 
few  years  of  womanhood,  it  will,  in  all  probability,  never 
In-  attained.  There  have  been  females  who  graduated 
from  school  or  college  excellent  scholars,  but  with  unde- 
veloped ovaries.  Later  they  married  and  were  sterile. 
From  the  disturbances  of  the  delicate  mechanism  we  are 
considering,  induced  during  the  catamenial  weeks  of  that 
critical  age,  germinate  a  host  of  ills, — periodical  hemor- 
rhage, amenorrhea,  anemia,  chorea,  sterility,  etc.,  etc. 

The  growth  of  this  peculiar  and  marvelous  apparatus 
occurs  during  the  few  years  of  a  girl's  educational  life. 
In  order  to  give  girls  a  fair  chance  in  education  four 
conditions  must  then  be  observed:  (1)  A  sufficient  supply 
of  appropriate  nourishment;  (2)  a  normal  management 
of  the  catamenial  functions;  (3)  mental  and  physical 
work  so  apportioned  that  repair  shall  exceed  waste,  and 
a  margin  bo  left  for  sexual  development,  and  (4)  suffi- 
cient sleep.  A  healthy  and  growing  boy  may  spend  six 
hours  of  force  daily  upon  his  studies;  a  girl  cannot  s}>end 
more  than  four,  or,  in  occasional  instances,  five  hours. 
During  every  four  weeks,  there  should  be  a  remission, 
and  sometimes  an  intermission  of  both  study  and  physical 
exercise. 


Tin:  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 


ILLUSTRATION. 

WHAT    DR.    CLARKE     REPORTS    ABOUT     A    SCHOOL-GIRL,     FJFTKKN 
YKARS    OLD. 

Miss  A.,  a  healthy,  bright,  intelligent  girl,  entered  a 
seminary  for  girls,  in  the  State  of  New  York,  at  the  age 
of  fifteen.  She  was  then  sufficiently  well  developed,  and 
the  catamenia  were  fairly  established.  She  was  ambi- 
tious as  well  as  capable,  and  aimed  to  be  among  the  first 
in  the  school.  She  was  always  anxious  about  her  recita- 
tions. She  went  to  school  regularly  every  weekf  and 
every  day  of  the  school-year,  just  as  boys  do.  She  paid 
no  more  attention  to  the  periodical  tides  of  her  organ  i/a- 
tion  than  her  companions,  and  that  was  none  at  all.  She 
recited  standing  at  all  times,  or  at  least  whenever  a  stand- 
ing recitation  was  the  order  of  the  hour.  She  soon  found 
(and  this  history  is  taken  from  her  own  lips)  that  for  a 
few  days  during  every  four  weeks  the  effort  of  reciting 
produced  an  extraordinary  physical  result.  The  attend- 
ant anxiety  and  the  excitement  relaxed  the  sluices  of  the 
system  that  were  already  physically  open,  and  deter- 
mined a  hemorrhage.  Subjected  to  the  inflexible  rules 
of  the  school,  unwilling  to  seek  advice  from  anyone, 
almost  ashamed  of  her  own  physique,  she  ingeniously 
protected  herself  against  exposure,  physically  defying  nat- 
ure. At  the  end  of  a  year  she  went  home  with  a  grati- 
fying report  from  her  teachers,  and  pale  cheeks  and  a 
variety  of  aches.  Her  parents  were  pleased,  and  per- 
haps a  little  anxious.  "She  is  a  good  scholar,"  said  her 
father,  " somewhat  overworked  possibly;"  and  so  he  gave 
her  a  trip  among  the  mountains,  and  a  week  or  tw«  >  at 
the  sea-shore.  After  her  vacation  she  returned  to  school, 
and  repeated  the  previous  year's  experience, — constant 


THE  CULTURE  OF  THE  BODY.  125 

work,  recitations  and  studies  for  all  days  alike,  a  hemor- 
rhage once  a  month  that  would  make  the  stroke  oar  of 
the  university  crew  falter,  and  a  brilliant  scholar.  Be- 
fore the  expiration  of  the  second  year  nature  began  to 
assert  her  authority.  The  paleness  of  Miss  A.'s  complex- 
ion increased.  An  uncontrolled  twitching  of  a  rhyth- 
mical sort  got  into  the  muscles  of  her  face,  and  made  her 
hands  go  and  feet  jump.  She  was  sent  home,  and  her 
physician  called,  who  at  once  diagnosticated  chorea  (St. 
Vitus'  dance),  and  said  she  had  studied  too  hard,  and 
wisely  prescribed  no  study  and  a  long  vacation.  Her 
father  took  her  to  Europe.  A  year  of  the  sea  and  the 
Alps  of  England  and  the  Continent,  the  Rhine  and  Italy, 
worked  like  a  charm.  The  sluice-ways  were  controlled, 
and  the  blood,  saved,  the  color  and  health  returned.  She 
came  back  seemingly  well,  and  at  the  age  of  eighteen 
went  to  her  old  school  once  more.  During  all  this  time 
not  a  word  had  been  said  to  her  by  her  parents,  her 
physician,  or  her  teachers,  about  any  periodical  care  of 
herself;  and  the  rules  of  the  school  did  not  acknowledge 
the  catameuia.  The  labor  and  the  regimen  of  the  school 
soon  brought  on  the  old  menorrhagic  trouble  in  the  old 
way,  with  the  addition  of  occasional  faintings  to  empha- 
size nature's  warnings.  She  persisted  in  getting  her  educa- 
tion, however,  and  graduated  at  nineteen,  the  first  scholar 
and  an  invalid.  Again  her  parents  were  gratified  and 
anxious.  "  She  is  overworked,"  said  they,  and  wondered 
why  girls  break  down  so.  To  insure  her  recovery,  a 
second,  and  longer  travel  was  undertaken.  Egypt  and 
Asia  were  added  to  Europe,  and  nearly  two  years  were 
allotted  to  the  cure.  With  change  of  air  and  scene  her 
health  improved,  but  not  so  rapidly  as  with  the  previous 


126  Tin;  KWCATING  MOTHER. 

journey.  She  returned  to  America,  better  than  she  went, 
away,  and  married  at  the  age  of  twenty-two.  Soon  after 
that  time  she  consulted  the  writer  on  account  of  pro- 
longed dyspepsia,  neuralgia,  and  dysmenorrhoea,  which 
had  replaced  menorrhagia.  Then  I  learned  the  long  his- 
tory of  her  education  and  of  her  efforts  to  study  just  a.s 
I  toys  do.  Her  attention  had  never  been  called  before  to 
the  danger  she  had  incurred  while  at  school.  She  is  now 
what  is  called  getting  better,  but  has  the  delicacy  and 
weaknesses  of  American  women,  and  so  far,  is  without 
children. 


SEVENTH  LETTER. 

THERAPEUTICS   OF    THE   BODY — THRUSHES   OF    CHILDREN — TEETH- 
ING— HEALING  OF  PAMPERING — GENERAL   REMARKS. 

Though  I  heartily  desire  to  be  able  to  communicate1  to 
you  many  useful  advices  with  regard  to  the  therapeutics 
of  the  body,  I  find  only  a  few  here  on  the  right  place. 
The  reason  of  it  rests  on  the  nature  of  the  object.  The 
perfect  knowledge  of  human  diseases  and  of  their  healing 
is  such  a  vast  and  partly  obscure  province  of  science 
that  it  cannot  be  expected  of  the  educating  mother  to 
possess  it.  I  say  "  the  perfect  knowledge,"  for  as  far  as 
it  concerns  the  nature  and  management  of  infantile  dis- 
eases, no  mother,  indeed,  ought  to  be  ignorant  of  this  part 
of  it.  In  real  diseases  you  must  go  for  help  to  the  physi- 
cian. What  pedagogy  has  to  tell  us  of  this,  is  limited  to 
the  following  remarks : — 

Let  no  disorder  become  deep-rooted;  go  for  help  be- 
fore it  increases  and  perhaps  grows  incurable.  If  you  do 
not  neglect  the  first  symptoms  of  the  evil,  you  can,  in 
most  cases,  become  the  doctor  of  your  children  yourself. 


Tn  K  CULTURE  OF  THK  BODY.  127 

A  cup  of  tea,  a  slight  purgative,  is  often  the  beginning 
and  the  end  of  the  cure.  In  this  manner  I  healed,  c.  y., 
the  thrushes  of  children  (as  they  call  them)  only  with 
caraway.  Every  mother  should  have  ready  some  general 
remedies.  Old  practices  must  not  always  be  complied 
with,  customary  household  medicines  not  always  be 
trusted,  c.  </.,  if  children  cut  teeth,  they  give  them  usually 
hard  objects  in  order  to  help  the  tooth  piercing,  and  still 
it  is  certain  that  even  thereby  the  pain  of  the  child  is 
increased.  A  piece  of  wax-taper  is  better;  or  a  small 
crust  of  bread,  not  a  large  one,  for  by  accident  the  child 
might  loosen  a  large  piece  of  it,  which  might  choke  it. 
Sucking  the  thumb,  when  it  is  cutting  teeth,  is  the  best 
gum-stick  in  the  world.  Truly  may  the  thumb  be  called 
a  baby's  comfort. 

Least  you  will  accord  superstition  the  right  of  voting  in 
such  a  sacred  concern  as  the  health  and  life  of  your  chil- 
dren are.  You  can  lend  much  assistance  for  saving  your 
darlings  if  you  communicate  to  the  physician  your  conject- 
ures and  observations  regarding  the  nature  of  the  disease ; 
if  you  take  care  that  his  directions  are  strictly  obeyed ;  that 
the  patient  takes  promptly  the  medicines,  though  they 
nauseate  him;  if  you — but  who  would  prescribe  to  a  lov- 
ing mother  the  extent  and  bounds  of  her  activity  ?  In- 
deed, he  who  despises  our  sex,  must  behold  a  faithful 
mother  at  the  sick-bed  of  her  children,  and  he  will  agree 
with  the  words  of  the  poet : — 

"All  honor  to  women! — they  soften  and  leaven 
The  cares  of  the  world  with  the  roses  of  Heaven.* 

Some  kinds  of  physical  defects,  as,  e.  g.,  effeminacy 


S  -hillor,  in  his  poem,  "  Dignity  of  Women." 


THE  EDUCATING  MOTIIKR. 


caused  by  pampering,  originate  in  :i  faulty  way  of  life; 
others,  like  the  fearful  evil  of  .self-pollution,  issue,  for  the 
most  part,  from  an  ill  state  of  mind.  Medical  art  i.s 
rarely  wanted  to  heal  such  defects ;  their  healing  rests 
for  the  most  part  upon  the  laws  of  psychology.  So,  e. 
(/.,  effeminate  delicacy  requires  hardening  by  degrees; 
violence  would  do  little  good  in  such  a  case.  Or  what 
should  compulsion  bring  to  pass,  if  a  child  would  not  like 
certain  kinds  of  food? 

Another  remarkable  case  is  prompted  by  the  inability 
to  retain  the  urine — a  case  noticed  sometimes  even  in 
families  of  high  standing,  in  rather  large  sons  of  physi- 
cians and  professors;  a  case  Avhich,  if  it  appears  in  older 
children,  suggests  that  the  parents,  especially  the  mothers, 
mostly  are  careless.  Such  an  annoying,  evil  will  be 
cured  if  the  child  is  oftener  awakened  during  the  night; 
if  he  takes  for  supper  no  food  which  makes  water,  and  if 
he  is  prevented  to  uncover  himself  in  bed.  Older  chil- 
dren should  be  treated,  besides,  with  some  severity. 
Small  rewards  can  make  them  more  careful;  rough  pun- 
ishment, principally  flogging,  can  hardly  be  approved. 
Sometimes  medicines  are  of  relief. 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

THE     MIRACLE    WORKEK. 

Mr.  S.  had  an  only  child,  a  daughter,  sixteen  years 
old,  who,  since  eight  years,  always  was  bedrid.  As  I  was 
acquainted  with  the  family,  I  paid  to  the  sick  lady  sev- 
eral visits.  Though  the  parents  had  tried  the  art  of 
many  a  physician,  the  maiden  was  never  able  to  rise. 
What  a  misery  to  the  parents  and  child!  Finally  they 
were  advised  to  apply  for  help  to  the  Prince  of  Honen- 


THE  CULTURE  OF  THE  BODY.  129 

f 

lohe,  who  was  also  a  Catholic  priest,  and  was  highly  ven- 
erated by  the  populace  of  Vienna  as  a  miracle  worker, 
lie  had  been  in  Palestine,  had  seen  the  holy  places 
of  that  country,  and  had  brought  water  from  the  River 
dor. Ian.  Crowds  of  people  often  gathered  before  his 
ivsidcmr,  eager  to  see  him,  and  to  get  his  benediction. 
Th:-  parents  implored  him  for  help.  He  came  to  see  the 
sick  child ;  he  imposed  his  hands  upon  her  head ;  he 
prayed  with  the  parents;  he  prescribed  to  wash  her  with 
i'ivsh  water,  and  promised  to  come  again.  He  came  in- 
deed several  times  more;  the  washing  and  the  prayers 
were  continual,  but  neither  prayers  nor  water  took  the 
li-ust  effect ;  the  poor  maiden  remained  as  sick  as  she  was 
before. 

THE   QUACK. 

Philip  was  the  only  child  which  Mr.  Damon  had  left 
to  his  dear  wife.  You  will  easily  imagine  that  she  loved 
the  boy  like  her  own  self,  and  personally  desired  to  keep 
•inly  monument  of  the  tender  matrimony.  Conse- 
quently, she  went,  for  conscience'  sake,  to  a  physician  in 
order  to  consult  him.  Though  Philip  was  as  healthy  as 
a  young  roe,  nevertheless  she  believed  that  she  ought 
to  take  care,  in  time,  of  his  health,  'ftie  physician  felt 
Philip's  pulse,  and  told  her:  "Your  child  is  healthy;  I 
should  not  be  doing  a  kindness  neither  to  you  nor  to 
your  child,  if  I  would  give  him  even  a  drop  of  medicine." 
"  But,"  replied  the  woman,  "  the  boy  caught  cold,  and 
pimples  have  made  their  appearance."  "  Let  them  alone, 
my  dear,"  said  the  physician,  "they  are  the  operations 
of  nature  which  conduce  for  health.  It  were  cruel  if 
you  would  disturb  nature  in  her  laws."  She  thought, 
"  You  may  be  the  right  physician,  indeed ! "  and  went 


130  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

to  Mr.  N.,  a  quack,  who  promised  to  visit  her  next  day. 
He  did  so.  He  examined  the  boy  carefully,  and  in- 
quired how  his  appetite  and  sleep  were,  and  as  he  was 
told  that  the  child  last  night  had  turned  sometimes  rest- 
lessly in  bed,  he  shook  his  head  gravely.  "  For  heaven's 
sake,"  cried  the  woman,  "what's  the  matter?"  "It  is  a 
serious  case.  The  whole  organism  of  the  child  is  dis- 
ordered. When  did  you  purge  the  boy  the  last  time  ?  " 
"  I  think,  not  for  a  year."  "  There !  there !  we  got  it ! 
Most  food  contains  an  injurious  acidity  from  which  can- 
cerous sores,  colds,  and  apoplexies  spring.  The  child  has 
got  a  compound  malady  which  we  physicians  call  mor- 
bum  mixtum.  It  takes  time  to  remove  it  radically.  For 
a  few  months  we  can  do  nothing  but  employ  palliatives. 
But  if  we  can  keep  our  patient  alive  only  until  spring, 
we  shall  set  lively  to  work  to  cure  him  with  decoc- 
tions of  herbs." 

Now  Mrs.  Damon  was  satisfied,  and  she  deli vered  her 
dear  Philip  entirely  into  the  hands  of  the  physician, 
who  right  away,  next  day,  began  using  the  remedies. 
1 1  was  a  cruel  treatment  which  cannot  be  described  with- 
out tears.  Fruit,  vegetables,  and  what  else  children 
like  well  he  was  entirely  forbidden  to  eat.  So  much 
electuary,  tea  of  simples,  and  powders  were  given  to  him 
that  the  red  complexion,  and  the  marrow  in  his  bones 
disappeared,  and  his  appetite  was  lost.  Vainly  the 
mother  complained  and  wept  at  the  barbarous  treatment. 
"I  am  glad  of  it,"  he  said;  "it  must  come  to  this;  <ii>t 
\ve  must  evacuate  all,  before  we  intend  to  strengthen  the 
chikL" 

In  this  way  the  proposed  cure  lasted  three  years,  until 
nature  released  the  poor  child  by  an  easy  death  from  the 
clutches  of  his  tormentor. 


THE  CULTURE  OF  THE  BODY.      131 

MORAL. — If  you  want  to  make  your  children  .sick,  give 
them  many  medicines. 

THE   POISONED   CHILD. 

The  honorable  Mr.  Z.,  a  representative  of  the  Swiss 
(  undress,  was  father  of  a  beautiful  little  son  whose  name 
was  Rodolph.  Once  he  led  me  to  the  bedroom  in 
which  the  child  slumbered,  showing  me  the  pretty  sight. 
There  the  boy  rested  like  another  Endymion.  The 
father  felt  so  happy.  Well,  soon  after,  his  wife  paid  a 
visit  in  the  country,  and  took  the  boy'with  her.  He  fell 
suddenly  sick,  and  when  his  mother  returned,  he  died. 
It  is  difficult  to  imagine  the  grief  of  the  parents,  princi- 
pally of  the  father.  Still  nature  granted  liim  another 
son,  whom,  in  memory  of  the  lost,  he  called  also  Ro- 
dolph.  Then  the  mother  died  also,  and  Mr.  Z.  took  a 
second  wife.  Meanwhile,  this  boy,  who  was  as  beautiful 
as  the  first,  grew  up  and  went  to  school.  On  one  occa- 
sion, when  he  was  about  seven  years  old,  he  came  home, 
sick  from  school  complaining  of  belly-ache.  The  mother 
consulted  a  book  entitled  "  The  Family  Physician,"  and 
administered  to  the  child  a  medicine  according  to  the  prc- 
scri  ption  of  the  book.  The  condition  of  the  patient  did  not 
improve;  to  the  contrary,  it  grew  worse.  The  mother 
trir  1  another  medicine  of  the  same  book.  But  the  evil 
::<><  still  worse.  The  other  day  Mrs.  Z.  sent  for  the  phy- 
sician. He  examined  the  child,  and  declared  to  the  ter- 
v\i'..-([  mother  that  it  was  poisoned.  The  boy  had  gone 
nfi'.T  school,  with  some  comrades,  in  a  meadow  where  the 
colrliicum  flourished.  The  nice  blossoms  enticed  the 
boys;  they  picked  several  flowers,  and  little  Rodolph  ate 
ssii i  ic  seeds  of  the  plant,  not  knowing  that  they  were 
poisonous.  The  physician  could  not  save  the  poor  boy; 


132  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

lie  died  the  same  day.  This  was  the  second  child  which 
died  in  consequence  of  the  imprudence  of  the  mothers. 
Think  of  the  feelings  of  the  unfortunate  father! 

MORAL. — Parents  who  keep  medical  books  for  consult- 
ing them  in  case  a  member  of  the  family  falls  sick, 
ought  to  be  very  cautious  and  careful  in  making  use  of 
them. 


Second  Semes. 


CULTURE  OF  INTELLECT. 

"  Let  children  rejoice  like  children,  and  do  not  intend  to  make 
them  prematurely  mules  and  scholars." 

— J.  J.  ROUSSEAU'S  Emile. 


EIGHTH  LETTER. 

SUMMARY   OF    THE   SERIES — CULTURE  OF    THE  INTUITIVE 
FACULTY — IMAG  ES. 

The  peculiar  efficacy  of  human  mind  consists  in  the 
formation  of  conceptions.  Of  these  I  shall  speak  now. 
Conceptions  can  be  considered  separately  or  in  conjunc- 
tion. The  separated  conceptions  are  called  intuitions, 
notions,  or  ideas.  Intuitions  are  external  or  interior ;  the 
object  of  the  first  kind  of  intuitions  is  things  exterior 
to  us;  that  of  the  second  kind,  we  ourselves  with  our 
thoughts  and  volitions.  The  faculty  attributed  to  the 
mind  for  that  end  is  called  faculty  of  intuition.  Or  the 
combinations  of  conceptions  are  considered ;  they  are 
called  judgments  of  mind  and  are  formed  by  means  of 
intellect  proper. 

All  these  mental  faculties  serve  to  form  new  concep- 


CULTURE  OF  INTELLECT.  133 

tions.  But  we  renew  frequently  already  formed  notions, 
namely,  by  means  of  memory. 

Alter  this  general  view,  the  most  important  sides 
which  are  to  be  cultivated  in  the  intellect  of  the  pupil 
shall  now  be  represented,  principally  with  regard  to  the 
first  periods  of  life  up  to  the  time  when  the  mental  cult- 
ure of  our  children  is  committed  to  the  school,  which 
then  supplies  our  place. 

The  knowledge  of  man  begins  with  perceptions  of  the 
senses.  Rousseau  says:  "Immediately  after  birth  the 
child  receives  the  first  lesson."  Therefore  take  care  of 
the  instructive  intuitions  of  the  child  already  in  the 
cradle.  Mothers  are  doing  well  to  cultivate  early  the 
senses  of  the  children,  e.  g. :  the  sense  of  sight,  by  teach- 
ing them  to  distinguish  the  single  colors,  and  the  dis- 
tance of  objects;  the  sense  of  touch,  by  letting  them 
feel  if  a  body  be  cold  or  warm,  smooth  or  rough.  They 
are,  thereby,  enabled  to  use  the  body  as  an  implement  of 
work.  Such  an  information  prepares  them  for  life. 

The  single  parts  of  every  object  ought  to  be  observed 
and  named.  The  child  ought  to  touch  that  which  can 
be  touched.  Representations  and  models  are  no  perfect 
substitutes  of  reality.  From  the  domestic  circle  and 
the  residence  the  knowledge  of  the  child  ought  to  ex- 
pand more  and  more  without.  Among  the  different 
sciences  from  which  the  mother  can  obtain  objects  of  in- 
tuition are  anthropology,  natural  history,  description  of 
trades,  and  geography.  It  is  desirable  that  children  ob- 
tain instruction  how  to  acquire  the  knowledge  of  plants 
and  flowers,  which  are  interesting  them  so  much,  how 
to  gather  them  in  the  fields,  and  how  to  preserve  them. 
But  I  cannot  advise  you  to  let  them  collect  insects  at 
this  age. 


134  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  is  well  to  lead  the  pupil  into  the 
workshops  of  mechanics  and  workmen,  and  to  teach 
him  there  the  knowledge  of  their  different  tools  and  oc- 
cupations, and  of  the  materials  which  they  employ  in 
their  trades. 

Geography  could  also  be  an  expedient  to  develop  the 
intellect  even  of  a  boy  five  years  old,  if  the  instruction 
were  of  the  intuitive  kind;  e.  jr., Rousseau  let  his  Emile 
see  the  sun  rise  on  different  places  and  in  different  sea- 
sons, in  order  to  teach  him  that  we  have  another  orient 
in  summer  as  in  winter.  Globes  and  maps  are  for 
this  end  indispensable.  As  it  is  supposed  that  the 
child  is  yet  unable  to  read,  cities,  mountains,  rivers,  H<-.. 
must  be  represented  figuratively.*  We  should,  then, 
begin  with  the  nearest  localities  and  first  represent  our 
native  country ;  later  show  the  earth  in  its  outlines. 

Of  the  internal  intuitions  only  a  few  can  in  the  first 
age  be  evolved.  In  order  to  enable  you  to  apply  the 
theory  of  the  intellectual  culture  easier,  you  will  not 
take  amiss  that  I  join  my  own  attempts  as  examples  of 
illustration.  An  imperfect  model  is  better  than  none 
at  alL 


ILLUSTRA  TIOXS. 

TH£   ROSE. 

[Mother  omJ  chiM.  both  in  the  garden^] 
Child.  "Mamma,  what  kind  of  flower  is  this?" 
Mother.  "It  is  a.  rose.     What  do  you  see  on  it  ?     Look 
here ;  here  is  the  stalk,  and  there  are  three  leaves;  here  is 


*  "Topical  Analysis  of  Physical  Geography,"  by  C.  W.  Childs,  Professor  of 
the  Normal  School  in  California. 


CULTURE  OF  INTELLECT.  135 

a  bud,  and  here  the  blossom.  It  is  already  .«/<  ut  up. 
These  leaves  are  called  petal*  What  is  their  color?" 

Ch.  "They  are  red." 

M.  "And  the  leaves  of  the  stalk?" 

Ch.  "  They  are  green." 

J/.  "Next  see  here  are  the  pidtl*  in  the  blossom. 
(Placing  a  rote  to  the  nose  of  the  child.)  What  do  you 
say  now?" 

Ch.  "  Oh,  what  sweet  odor ! " 

M.  "Now,  give  me  your  finger.  There,  touch  this 
thorn,  but  softly." 

Ch.  "Alas!   it  stings." 

M.  "  Yes,  my  dear  child.  It  is  so  with  the  rose,  and 
it  is  so  with  many  other  tilings;  they  have  good  and 
bad  properties  A  proverb  says,  'No  rose  without 
thorns.'  Shut  now  the  eyes.  I  shall  pick  still  another 
flower,  and  then  see  if  you  can  distinguish  it  from  the 
rose.  (She  pick*  a  violet,  and  holds  one  flower  after  the 
othi-r  to  tJie  nose  of  the  child.')  Which  of  the  flowers  is 
the  rose?" 

Ch.  (Tou filing  the  nw)     "This  one." 

M.  "  How  do  you  now  distinguish  the  rose?" 

Ch.  "  By  the  odor." 

M.  "That  will  do.  What  can  you  tell  me  now  about 
the  whole  of  the  rose  ?  "  \ 

Ch.  "It  has  a  stalk,  leaves^  petals,  pistils,  thorns,  a 
sweet  odor,  etc." 

M.  "There  are  also  white  roses,  and  even  yellow  ones, 
but  the  latter  are  seldom  found.  Not  all  roses  have  so 
many  petals,  like  this,  which  is  called  the  centifolious ; 
outside,  on  the  hedges,  wild  roses  grow,  which  have  but 
five  petals.  Among  all  flowers  the  rose  is  the  most 
beautiful." 


THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 


PITY. 

[Mother  and  child.] 

Mother.  "  Do  you  still  remember  the  poor  man  who  re- 
quested the  father  to  write  a  letter  of  recommendation 
for  him?" 

Child.  "Why  should  I  not?  It  was  but  yesterday 
that  he  was  here.  Besides,  he  was  so  miserable.  So — 
he  had  only  one  leg.  The  other  was — " 

M.  (Interrupting  the  child)  "It  is  well,  my  child; 
what  did  you  feel,  then,  as  you  looked  at  the  poor  man  ?  " 

Ch.  "Alas!  I  felt  myself  not  well  thereby.  I  felt 
like  crying  for  the  poor  man." 

M.  "  Did  you  then  feel  joy  or  pain  in  your  heart  ?  " 

Ch.  "Pain,  to  be  sure!" 

M.  "  But  you  are  not  lacking  a  leg ;  whose  suffering, 
then,  caused  your  pain  ?  " 

Ch.  "  The  suffering  of  the  poor  man." 

M.  "  Was  this  suffering  your  own,  or  that  of  another  ?  " 

Ch.  "  Of  another  one." 

M.  "  Now  look ;  such  a  pain  which  we  feel  for  the  suf- 
ferings of  other  people  is  called  pity.  Can  you  tell  me 
what  pity  is  ?  " 

Ch.  "  Pain  we  feel  for  suffering." 

M.  "  When  the  dentist  pulled  out  your  tooth,  you  had 
also  pain,  but  was  it  also  pity  ?  " 

Ch.  "  No,  mamma." 

M.  "  Why  not  ?  " 

Ch.  "  Because  it  was  caused  by  my  own  suffering." 

M.  "Therefore,  were  you  right  when  you  said  that 
pity  is  pain  we  feel  for  a  suffering?" 

Ch.  "No." 

M.  "  What  must  you  still  add  ?  Whose  suffering  must 
it  be?" 


CULTURE  OF  INTELLECT.  137 


Ch.  "  That  of  another  one." 

M.  "  When  did  you  likewise  feel  pity  ?  " 

Ch.  "  The  other  duy,  as  Julius  was  punished." 

M.  "  That's  so ;  your  pity  for  the  poor  Julius  went  as 
far  a.s  to  make  you  cry.  Remember  also  the  mother  in 
your  picture-book ;  she  also  is  shedding  tears,  for  what 
reason  ?  " 

Ch.  "  Because  she  .embraces  again  her  son,  after 
many  years  of  separation." 

M.  "  Does  she  also  cry  from  pain  ?  " 

Ch.  "No,  from  joy." 

M.  "  Our  tears  spring,  then,  from  different  fountains ; 
it  is  not  pity  alone  which  elicits  them  to  us.  Become 
accustomed,  my  child,  to  reflect  always  on  the  causes  of 
human  actions,  but  in  particular,  never  close  your  heart 
against  the  .sweet  feeling  of  pity !  '  Rejoice  with  the  joy- 
ful, and  cry  with  the  mourner.'  " 

In  conclusion  of  my  letter,  dear  friend,  let  me  say  a 
word  on  pictures.  They  should  represent  their  objects 
faithfully  and  distinctly,  and,  if  possible,  be  colored ; 
they  must  not  paint  immoral  scenes,  nor  foster  supersti- 
tion. It  is  to  be  wished  that  they  represent  virtues  which 
are  peculiar  to  children,  e.  g.,  modesty,  gratitude,  obedi- 
ence. They  ought  to  be  also  handsomely  drawn.  Their 
use  is  indispensable  where  the  real  intuition  of  the 
object  cannot  be  given.  They  should  be  also  an  orna- 
ment, of  rural  cottages,  for  they  interest  children  highly; 
but  the  attention  of  the  children  must  be  directed  to  their 
constituent  parts  and  tenor.  The  contents  of  picture- 
books  should  be  derived  from  the  sphere  of  experience  of 
children. 


138  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

NINTH  LETTER. 

CULTURE   OF     INTELLECT   PROPEK — TOYS. 

The  child  develops  its  intellect  early.  The  first  word 
which  it  stammers  when  it  is  twelve  months  old,  show- 
us  that  it  is  already  thinking;  still  it  did  not  begin  to 
think  just  now;  it  has  been  thinking  since  it  is  living. 
Consequently,  cultivate  the  intellect  of  your  children 
carefully  while  in  these  periods  of  life.  Material  for  this 
purpose  is  not  lacking  in  life.  The  training  of  the  intel- 
lect requires  that  you  procure  the  child  many  intuitions. 
An  empty  mill  cannot  grind,  only  clatter.  Experience 
is  the  assistant  of  the  intellect ;  without  it,  it  is  unable  to 
do  anything.  Moreover,  let  the  child  investigate  tin- 
causes  and  effects  of  things,  perceive  their  use,  distinguish 
between  purpose  and  means.  Correct  erroneous  judg- 
ments, and  do  it  with  the  patience  of  a  mother.  Do  not 
prompt  the  child  with  the  thoughts  ready  made.  Very 
young  children  should  gather  homogeneous  things,  sepa- 
rate heterogeneous,  and  put  them  in  order.  For  this 
mental  exercise  serve  grains  of  seed,  leaves,  and  petals  of 
flowers,  shapes  of  paper,  etc.  Building  with  little,  regu- 
lar pieces  of  wood  improves  also  the  understanding; 
they  can  represent  squares,  triangles,  etc.,  and  ought  to 
be  in  parcels  of  different  size  and  gradation,  but  they 
may  also  represent  whole  parts  of  a  house.  Little  retail 
shops  with  different  goods  are  playthings  which  also 
develop  the  intellectual  power.  Other  toys  are  still  fit  to 
this  aim, — for  boys:  wooden  and  leaden  soldiers  on  foot 
and  horse-back,  arms,  cartridge-boxes,  banners;  for  girls: 
little  kitchens  and  pantries,  and  in  the  first  place  the  doll, 
which  must  represent  at  one  time  the  darling  baby,  at 
another  the  dear  mother,  the  aunt,  nay,  perhaps  even  the 


CULTURE  OF  INTTLLECT.  139 

grand  mother.  For  the  rest,  in  regard  to  playthings,  the 
<H  test  ion  depends  not  so  much  upon  their  quantity,  as 
upon  tin-  good  selection  and  the  right  use  of  them. 

For  the  older  children,  the  former  mentioned  branches 
of  science,  natural  history,  and  the  knowledge  of  trades 
furnish  ample  material  for  thought ;  but  nothing  makes 
tin1  understanding  more  acute  than  instruction  in  arith- 
metic. But  as  I  do  not  know  that  you  will  teach  your 
children  this  rather  difficult  section  of  knowledge,  I  will, 
mcjimvhile,  pass  it  by  in  silence;  only  permit  me  to  re- 
mark that  it  is  desirable  that  children  when  they  enter 
the  public  schools  understand  the  elements  of  addition 
and  subtraction.  I  suggest  here  only  one  trial,  how 
objects  can  be  used  for  the  purpose  in  question. 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

THE  WATCH — STATEMENT    OF   ITS   PROPERTIES. 

[Mother  and  childJ] 

Mother.  "  What  do  I  hold  in  the  hand  ?  " 

Child.  "A  watch." 

M.  "  What  do  you  notice  on  the  outside  of  the  watch  ?  " 

Ch.  "  Hands  and  a  dial-plate." 

M.  "  How  many  hands  do  you  see  ?  " 

Ch.  "Two." 

M.  "  What  more  do  you  see  ?  " 

Ch.  "  A  glass,  a  case,  and  a  hook." 

M.  "  Now  I  open  it.  What  do  you  perceive  in  the 
inside  of  the  watch?  " 

Ch.  "  Wheels,  a  chain,  the  balance,  and  a  spring." 

M.  "  I  will  hide  it  now.  Do  you  remark  anything 
more  about  it  ?  " 

Ch.  "  Yes,  I  hear  it  beating  pit-a-pat ! " 


140  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

M.  "  What  shape  has  it  ?  " 

Ch.  "  It  is  round,  smooth,  convex." 

ORIGIN   AND   PSE. 

J/.  "  Who  has  made  the  watch?" 

Ch.  "  The  watchmaker." 

M.  "  Did  he  fabricate  its  single  parts  himself?  " 

Ch.  "  No ;  he  only  composed  them  as  a  whole." 

M.  "  Who  did  fabricate  the  parts  ?  " 

Ch.  "The  glazier  fabricated  the  glass,  the  mechanic 
the  wheels,  etc." 

M.  " Of  what  is  the  glass  made  ?  of  Avhat  the  wheels? " 

Ch.  "  The  glass  is  made  from  pebbles,  the  wheels  from 
metal." 

M.  "  What  is  the  use  of  watches  ?  " 

Ch.  "  Watches  tell  us  the  time." 

M.  "  What  time  is  it  now  by  this  watch  ?  " 

Ch.  "  Six  o'clock." 

SIMILITUDE    AND   DIFFERENCE. 

M.  "  See  there,  the  wooden  clock !  In  what  does  it 
resemble  the  watch  ?  " 

Ch.  "It  has  also  hands,  figures,  a  dial-plate  and 
wheels." 

M.  "  What  is  to  be  done  daily  with  both  if  we  want 
them  to  .'>-o?" 

Ch.  "  They  must  be  wound  up." 

M.  "  How  many  times  must  the  watch  be  wound  up  ?  " 

Ch.  "Only  once  a  day,  but  the  clock  twice,  in  the 
morning  and  evening." 

M.  "  Which  is  the  larger  ?  " 

Ch.  "The  clock." 

M.  "  State  still  other  differences  of  both." 


K  OF  INTELLECT.  141 


Ch.  "One  strikes,  the  other  does  not;  one  has  a 
pendulum,  the  other  a  spring  ;  one  is  made  of  wood,  the 
other  of  metal." 

M.  ''What  other  points  of  difference  has  the  clock  in 
order  to  enable  it  to  '.strike?" 

Ch.  "  Hummer  and  bell." 

CAUSE    AND    EFFECT—  MEANS   AND    PURPOSE. 

M.  "  You  have  told  already  that  watches  want  to  be 

wound  up  in  order  to  be  able  to  go.     What,  then,  is  the 

reason  that  they  are  going  ?  " 

Ch.  "  Because  they  are  wound  up." 

M.  "  What  do  I  want  in  order  to  wind  the  watch  ?  " 

Ch.  "  A  watch-key." 

M.  "  Why  is  it  behind  a  glass  and  a  case?  " 

Ch.  "  To  protect  it  against  any  disturbance  and  dam- 

age." 

M.  "  But  why  is  the  dial-plate  only  covered  with  glass  ?  " 
Ch.  "  Because  being  otherwise  we  should  not  be  able 

to  see  what  time  it  is." 

M.  "  What's  the  use  of  the  hands"  " 

Ch.  "They  show  the  hours  and  minutes." 

M.  "  Of  what  use  are  the  spring  and  balance  ?  " 

Ch.  "  They  move  the  wheels." 

M.  "Why  are  all  these  parts  made  of  metal?" 

Ch.  "  In  order  that  they  may  last  longer,  and  can  be 

made  smaller,  than  they  could  if  they  were  constructed 

of  wood." 

CLASSIFICATION. 

M.  "  What  is  the  watch  ?  " 

Ch.  "  A  utensil  or  implement." 

M.  "  Give  the  names  of  several  kinds  of  time-pieces." 


142  THE  Knr<  ATIN<;  MOTHER. 

Ch.  "  Watches,  clocks,  .clocks  of  steeples,  repeaters." 
M.  "  How  are  time-pieces  classified  according  to  their 
motors  ?  " 

Ch.  "There  are   time-pieces  of  weights  and  springs, 
sand-glasses  and  water-clocks." 
M.  "  According  to  their  station  ?  " 
Ch.  "  There  are  clocks  for  rooms,  and  clocks  of  steeples." 
M.  "  According  to  the  material  of  which  they  are  con- 
structed?" 

Ch.  "  There  are  wooden  and  metallic  ones." 

M.  "  What  kinds  of  metallic  are  there  ?  " 

Ch.  "  Gold,  silver,  and  brass  watches,  and  iron  clocks." 

WAY   TO   MAKE   CHILDREN   STUPID. 

In  a  certain  family  the  usual  way  to  punish  the  chil- 
dren for  every  fault  they  committed  was  a  few  sound  ear- 
boxes.  If  Charlie  or  Annie  did  something  that  the 
parents  disliked,  the  usual  menace  was,  "Look  out,  I 
shall  give  you  that  you  lose  your  seeing  and  hearing." 
And  it  was  not  done  with  these  menaces,  they  were 
every  day  executed,  so  that  the  children  stood  as  if 
stunned,  especially  if  the  father  gave  them ;  he  usually 
struck  their  heads. 

By  the  violent  shocks  of  the  head  the  brain  was  dis- 
ordered, and  Charlie  and  Annie  turned  into  the  greatest 
blockheads.  Mischievous  people  vied  together  to  make 
them  believe  the  most  absurd  stories,  and  then  were 
amused  if  the  children  repeated  them. 

Mr.  Job's  children  were  not  smarter.  Not  till  four 
years  old  did  they  learn  to  speak,  and  not  before  the 
twelfth,  to  read,  but  never  to  think.  The  mother  com- 
plained to  a  physician,  and  this  was  the  answer :  "  How 


CULTURE  OF  INTELLECT.  143 

can  it  happen  otherwise?     Your  husband   never  goes 
sober  to  bed." 


TENTH  LETTER. 

RELIGIorS    INSTRUCTION. 

Religion  is  the  belief  in  God  and  immortality.  Here 
the  question  sob'cits  the  mind  of  a  thinking  mother : 
Ought  parents  to  teach  reb'giou  to  their  children,  and  at 
what  age  must  they  begin  with  it?  Absolutely  not  in 
its  lower  grades,  for  disquisitions  in  regard  to  a  supreme 
being  are  to  little  children  entirely  unintelligible. 
Rousseau  is  right  when  he  says:  "Be  not  in  a  hurry  to 
settle  heaven  with  crows  and  magpies."  What  can  we, 
in  general,  assert  reasonably  of  a  highest  being?  Noth- 
ing. For  if  there  is  any  such  being,  its  qualities  must 
be  infinite,  transcending  the  faculties  of  human  under- 
standing; it  is  unknown  to  man,  and  never  can  be 
known  by  him.  We  can  only  teach  the  pupil  that  there 
is,  in  the  universe  a  supreme  power  on  which  all  phe- 
nomena, also  human  power,  depend.  Let  nature  take 
the  place  of  the  conception  of  God,  for  she  is  an  object 
tlu1  child  can  see,  hear,  feel  and  observe.  Mothers 
should,  at  least,  never  teach  children  erroneous  doctrines, 
nor  dogmas  which  they  do  not  understand  themselves, 
and  nobody  can  understand,  because  they  are  senseless. 
Teach  your  children  nothing  that  you  do  not  believe 
yourself.  You  will  not  amuse,  or,  rather,  annoy  them 
with  mere  opinions  of  faith,  will  you? 

More  advanced  children  ought  to  study  the  history  of 
religions  in  order  to  get  acquainted  with  their  good  and 
bad  qualities,  and,  after  having  examined  them,  to  be 
to  choose  one  independently;  but  probably  they 


144  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

will  arrive  at  the  result  that  all  have  some  defects,  and 
Avill  choose  none  at  all,  like  Frederic  Schiller,  who  says : 

"Which  religion  <lo  I  acknowledge?  None  that  thou  namest." 
"  None  that  I  name  ?  And  why  so '!"  "  Why,  for  religion's  own 
sake  ! " 

Guard  your  children  vigorously  against  the  pernicious 
influence  of  superstitious  doctrines,  even  if  they  are  gen- 
erally believed  in  your  country.  Explain  to  them  the 
meaning  of  customary  rites  and  ceremonies. 

In  conclusion  of  my  letter  I  cannot  but  communicate 
you  the  following  passages  from  the  "  Levana "  of  J.  P. 
Bichter :  "  Sham  religion,  which  is  pious  only  in  words, 
is  a  mock  sun,  a  parhelion,  which  can  neither  warm  nor 
light."  "  Grace-saying  must  needs  debase  every  child." 
"Seldom  let  children  go  to  church,  because,  so  far,  there 
are  not  special  preachers  for  children."  "  Every  profes- 
sion of  faith  should  be  to  the  child  as  sacred  as  its 
own." 

You  will  object,  and  say  that  there  are  Sunday- 
schools  where  we  can  send  our  children.  I  would  not 
advice  you,  dear  friend,  to  follow  the  common  example 
of  other  parents,  for  experience  proves  that  most  of 
these  schools  are  detrimental  to  the  education  of  children. 
Their  mind  receives  there  an  erroneous  impression  of  the 
universe,  is  crammed  with  superstition,  invited  to  secta- 
rian hatred  arid  fanaticism,  and  subdued  to  the  sway  of 
the  churches.  The  superstitious  conceptions  grafted  in 
the  tender  brains  of  youth  by  the  Sunday-schools  can,  in 
after-time,  never  more,  or  but  with  great  difficulty,  be 
eradicated.  Turner  societies,  too,  have  organized  Sunday- 
schools  where  the  pupils  receive  instruction  in  singing, 
drawing,  and  other  branches  of  culture.  Send  your 


CULTURE  OF  INTELLECT.  145 

children  there,  or  make  excursions  with  them  into  the 
country,  where  nature  famishes  them  so  many  objects 
of  interest  and  observation.  In  the  worst  case,  you  had 
belter  let  them  play  at  home,  in  your  yard,  than  to  have 
destroyed  in  an  hour  on  Sunday  what  you  built  care- 
fully during  a  Aveek  at  home. 

If  you  speak  at  all  to  your  children  of  immortality, 
do  it  only  occasionally,  e.  g.,  when  a  member  of  the 
family  dies.  Never  converse  with  little  ones  on  that 
subject ;  they  cannot  understand  your  reasonings.  Why 
darken  the  sunshine  of  their  paradise  by  the  dim  clouds 
of  the  grave?  Rousseau  says:  "My  Emile  does  not 
know  when  he  is  fourteen  years  old,  that  he  has  a  soul; 
and,  perhaps,  even  then  it  is  still  too  early  to  teach  it 
him."  But  hereby  I  would  not  say  that  we  must  let  our 
children  run  at  the  risk  of  their  life,  silently;  on  the 
contrary,  warn  them  that  they  will  lose  their  life,  if 
they  are  careless,  and  do  not  avoid  threatening  dangeiB, 
c.  i/.,  perilous  plays.  Give  them,  also,  examples  of  such 
children  whom  they  have  known,  and  who  lost  their 
lives  by  foolhardy  actions. 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

THE    FIRST    APPLE    TREE. 

[Mother  and  her  children,  Henry  and  Rosa,  taking  a 
walk.] 

Rosa.  "  Dear  mother,  who  made  these  trees  so  beauti- 
fully?" 

Mother.  "You  mean,  then,  that  somebody  has  built 
them,  like  the  carpenter  builds  a  house?  You  are  mis- 
taken, my  dear  child.  I  will  tell  you  how  this  apple 


146  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

tree  originated.  On  your  birthday  the  father  put  the 
seed  of  an  apple  into  the  ground ;  in  a  short  time  it  shot 
forth  a  green  germ,  which  grew  higher  every  year  and 
has  now  become  a  nice  tree.  That  is  the  history  of  the 
apple  tree.  In  the  same  or  a  similar  way  all  trees  you 
see  here  took  rise." 

Henry.  "  But,  dear  mother,  I  must  ask  you  one  <|ii«'s- 
tion  more.  You  told  Rosa  that  the  tree  has  grown  from 
the  seed  of  the  apple.  Now,  I  am  not  so  green  as  to 
ignore  that  the  seeds  came  from  the  fruit,  and  this  from  the 
tree ;  but  if  father  must  have  an  apple  and  its  seed  from 
another  tree,  whence  came,  then,  this  tree?" 

M.  "  Also  from  a  tree,  and  this  one  from  another  of 
its  kind,  and  so  on  infinitively." 

H.  "But  how  did  the  first  tree  rise?" 

3/.  "I  don't  know.  Nobody  knows.  Nature  gave 
it  rise.  Nature  gives  origin  to  all  trees  and  animals  and 
to  men,  also." 

H.  "That's  very  strange." 

M.  Indeed  it  is ;  nay,  say  it  is  almost  incomprehensi- 
ble. And,  in  the  course  of  time,  new  kinds  of  existing 
animals  and  plants  take  origin ;  e.  g.,  all  our  tame  pigeons 
descend  from  the  rock-pigeon,  which  lives  far  away  in 
the  mountains;  the  turtle-dove,  the  carrier-pigeon,  the 
laughing-dove,  etc.  Here  is  an  apple  tree  which  de- 
scended from  a  crab  we  had  in  our  garden.  Father  in- 
serted a  small  shoot  of  a  russet  tree  into  the  crab;  it 
grew,  and,  in  time,  bore  sweet  apples.  If  the  gardeners 
want  to  create  new  species  of  plants  or  flowers,  they  se- 
lect one  of  them  which  they  •  want  to  propagate,  and 
make  use  of  it  for  spreading,  secluding  all  the  other 
kinds.  The  scholars  call  this  proceeding  of  nature  the 


CULTURE  OF  INTELLECT.  147 

law  of  evolution,  of  which  you  will  learn  more  when  you 
grow  older." 

THE    ZEALOUS    MRS.    ELISABETH. 

Mr*.  Elisabeth  was  very  firmly  attached  to  the  Luth- 
eran religion,  and  wished  to  instill  her  zeal  also  into  her 
children.  She  represented  to  them  that  God  loved  no- 
body but  Lutherans.  Her  daughter  objected  to  her,  say- 
ing that  she  was  also  acquainted  with  honest  people 
among  Catholics,  Jews  and  Reformists,  and  that  they, 
not  being  wicked,  could  not  be  damned  by  God  forever. 
But  the  mother  tried  to  demonstrate  to  her  from  the 
Bible  that  the  Lutheran  faith  alone  is  true ;  that  all  peo- 
ple could  turn  Lutherans,  if  they  pleased,  and  that  there- 
fore they  could  not  complain  of  God  if  they  did  not 
make  use  of  their  freedom,  and  consequently  were 
damned. 

Her  son  Frederic  was  once  pert  enough  to  tell  her  to 
her  face  that  in  the  twenty-fifth  chapter  of  Matthew  it  was 
said  that  Jesus,  on  doomsday,  will  not  ask  if  one  has  been 
Lutheran,  Reformist,  Catholic,  Jew,  etc.,  but  if  he  had 
si i own  charity  and  mercy  to  his  fellow-creatures.  He  re- 
ceived, for  this  answer,  a  sound  box  on  the  ear,  which 
had  such  an  effect  that  he  troubled  his  mother  no  more 
with  such  objections.  In  order  to  guard  her  conscience 
still  more,  she  tried  to  engage  a  tutor.  First  an  amiable, 
skillful  gentleman  was  proposed  to  her,  but  when  she 
heard  that  he  went  to  the  church  of  the  Reformers,  she  re- 
jected him  and  appointed  a  Mr.  Morcolphus.  True,  the 
morals  of  this  gentleman  were  rather  rude,  and  his  man- 
ners awkward;  he  possessed  also  little  knowledge,  but 
no  matter,  he  was  a  genuine  Lutheran. 

She  enjoyed  the  great  satisfaction  of  seeing  her  efforts 


148  THE  EDUCATING  MOTIIKI;. 

blessed.  Her  children  hate  all  people  who  are  not 
Lutherans.  Louisa,  her  eldest  daughter,  was  loved  by 
an  excellent  young  man,  who  proposed  to  her.  But  as  lie 
neither  was  a  Lutheran,  nor  would  renounce  his  faith, 
she  married  a  follower  of  her  church  who  was  a  debau- 
chee, and  infected  her  with  a  malady  from  which  she 
deceased.  She  died  with  the  expectation  that  (Jod 
would  recompense  her  in  Heaven  for  having  preferre<  I  a 
mean  Lutheran  to  a  brave  Reformist. 

THE   WILDENSPTTCU   TRAGEDY. 

The  atrocious  murders  committed  by  the  religious  fa- 
natics Freeman,  Kemmler  and  others  in  America,  re- 
minded me  of  a  similar  misdeed  which  I  witnessed  in  the 
Canton  of  Zurich,  Switzerland,  while  I  lived  in  that 
country.  There  then  existed  a  Christian  sect  called  Pi- 
etists, or  by  the  community,  Separatists,  who  used  to  meet 
in  the  evenings  and  nights  in  remote,  secluded  places  lor 
the  sake  of  their  peculiar  worship.  One  of  these  socie- 
ties held  regular  meetings  in  a  solitary  farm-house  in  the 
village  of  Wildenspuch. 

Here,  in  the  passion-week  of  1831  or  1832,  as  their 
religious  mania  reached  its  climax,  they  had  a  meeting  in 
Avhich  they  considered  the  bloody  sacrifice  that,  according 
to  their  creed,  Christ  had  offered  oft  the  Calvary  hill  in 
that  week,  and  came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  their 
sacred  duty  to  renew  that  sacrifice.  They  singled  out 
one  of  their  society  to  be  killed.  She  was  a  maiden 
twenty  and  odd  years  old.  She  consented  to  the  resolu- 
tion of  her  brethren.  Consequently  she  was  fastened  on 
a  wooden  cross,  and  in  the  same  way  crucified  as  \\:is 
Christ,  according  to  the  Gospels. 


CULTURE  OF  INTELLECT.  149 

The  news  of  the  terrible  massacre  rapidly  spread  in 
the  canton.  The  Government  seized  the  members  of  the 
conventicle;  they  confessed  their  guilt,  and  were  all  sent 
to  the  penitentiary  for  more  or  less  years,  according  to  the 
more  or  less  prominent  part  they  had  acted  in  the  bloody 
tragedy. 

MORAL. — These  are  the  fruits  which  spring  from  the 
Book  of  books,  held  forth  by  Christians  to  the  whole  of 
mankind  as  their  moral  code. 

THE  TEMPLAR  AND   THE   PATRIARCH  OF    JERTTSAEEM.* 
ACT  IV,  SCENE  II. 

[The  Patriarch  advancing  in  great  pomp  on  one  side  of 
flic  cloisters,  and  the  Templar.~\ 

J'tifrtarch.  (Approaching    the    Templar?) 

Ah,  Sir  Knight — 
How  can  I  serve  thee,  Knight? 

Tmiplar.  By  giving  that 

In  which  my  youth  is  wanting — counsel. 

/'</.  Now   on    what   question   seeks  the   Knight   our 
counsel  ? 

Tniip.  Suppose,  most  reverend  Father,  that  a  Jew 
Should  have  an  only  child,  an  only  daughter — 
Trained  up  in  every  virtue  by  his  care, 
Loved  more  than  his  own  soul,  who,  in  return, 
Loves  him  with  fond  devotion — and  'twere  told 
To  one  of  us  the  girl  was  not  his  daughter; 
That  he  had  bought,  found,  stolen  her,  what  you  will, 
In  childhood  ;  and  that,  further,  it  was  known 
She  was  u  Christian,  and  had  been  baptized, — 
The  flew  had  only  brought  her  up  a  Jewess, 
Would  only  have  her  taken  for  a  Jewess, 
And  his  own  daughter.     Say,  most  reverend  Father, 
How  shall  sucli  case  be  dealt  with? 

•  N'utlmii,  the  Wise,"  byO.  E.  Leasing.     Translated  by  E.  Frothingham. 


150  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

Pa.  Ah,  I  shudder! 

If  this  be  fact,  if  in  our  diocese, 
In  our  dear  city  of  Jerusalem, 
It  shall  have  come  to  pass,  then — 

Temp.  And  what  then  ? 

Pa.  Then  should  be  executed  on  the  Jew, 
Without  delay,  the  penalty  decreed 
Against  such  crimes,  such  outrages,  by  laws 
Imperial  and  papal. 

Temp.  So? 

Pa.  Those  laws 

Decree  to  any  Jew  who  from  the  faith 
A  Christian  shall  pervert, — the  stake — the  flames. 

Temp.  So? 

Pa.  How  much  more  to  one  who  shall  have  torn 
By  violence  from  her  baptismal  vows 
A  Christian. child !     For  all  is  violence 
That's  done  to  children,  is  it  not? — that  is, 
Kxeepting  what  the  church  may  do  to  children. 

Temp.  But  if  the  child  in  misery  had  died, 
Unless  the  Jew  had  had  compassion  on  it? 

Pa.  It  matters  not ;  the  Jew  goes  to  the  stake ! 
Better  the  child  had  died  in  misery  here 
Than  thus  be  saved  for  everlasting  ruin, — 
Besides,  why  need  the  Jew  anticipate 
( Jod's  providence?     Without  him  God  can  save, 
If  save  he  will. 

Temp.  And  e'en  in  spite  of  liim, 

I  trow,  accord  salvation. 

Pa.  Matters  not ; 

The  Jew  goes  to  the  stake. 

TOII/>.  I  grieve  to  hear  it. 

The  more  because  the  girl  is  trained,  'tis  said, 
In  no  religion  rather  than  his  own; 
And  has  been  taught  no  more  nor  less  of  God 
Than  satisfies  her  reason. 

r«.  Matters  not; 

The  Jew  goes  to  (he  stake! — a  triple  stake, 


CULTURE  OF  INTELLECT.  151 

For  that  alone  he'd  merit.     Let  a  child 
Grow  up  with  no  religion — teach  it  naught 
Of  the  important  duty  of  believing ! 
That  is  too  much !  I  marvel,  Knight,  that  you — 

Temp.  The  rest  in  the  confessional,  God  willing, 
Most  reverend  Sir.  [about  to  go. 

Pa.  You  give  no  explanation? 

You  name  me  not  this  criminal,  this  Jew? 
Produce  him  not?     But  I  have  means  at  hand. 
I'll  instantly  to  Saladdin.     The  Sultan, 
According  to  the  treaty  he  has  sworn, 
Must,  must  protect  us ;  in  the  rights,  the  doctrines 
That  for  the  true  religion  we  may  claim, 
He  must  protect  us.     The  original, 
Thank  God,  is  ours.     \Ve  have  his  hand  and  seal. 
'Twere  easy  to  convince  him,  too,  the  State, 
By  this  believing  nothing,  is  endangered ; 
All  hold  upon  the  citizen  dissolved, 
When  he's  permitted  to  believe  in  nothing. 
Auny  with  such  a  scandal! 

Temp.  I  regret 

Not  having  greater  leisure  to  enjoy 
So  excellent  a  sermon.     Saladdin 
Has  summoned  me.  [exit. 

TUB   FANATIC,    MRS.    FANNT  SMITH. 

IN  the  little  village  of  Harmony,  New  York,  on  Good 
Friday  morning  was  enacted  one  of  the  most  terrible 
tragedies  of  the  year.  While  temporarily  insane,  Mrs. 
Fanny  Smith,  a  farmer's  wife,  with  an  ax  as  her  weapon, 
attacked  her  four  sleeping  children.  The  little  ones  were 
slumbering  in  bed  when  the  mad  woman  stole  upon  them. 
One,  a  four-year-old  girl,  was  brained  at  one  stroke,  and 
si  thirteen-year-old  boy  received  three  frightful  gashes  in 
the  head.  An  eleven-year-old  daughter  was  awakened  by 
the  murder  of  the  boy,  and  knowing  that  something  terri- 


152  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

ble  was  occurring  knelt  down  by  her  bedside  and  began  to 
pray.  In  this  posture  she  was  discovered  a  moment 
later  by  her  mother,  who,  despite  her  piteous  cries  for 
mercy,  attacked  her  with  the  blood}'  ax.  The  child 
crawled  toward  her  mother  on  her  knees,  holding  up  her 
hands  to  protect  herself,  but  at  the  fourth  blow  she  fell 
forward  on  the  floor  horribly  gashed.  Mrs. 'Smith  then 
went  to  another's  bedside  and  struck  her  six  or  seven 
times.  The  child  evidently  put  up  one  little  arm  to  ward 
oft*  the  blows  and  received  a  fearful  cut  across  her  four 
fingers.  Then  putting  out  the  other  arm,  she  received 
another  blow  which  nearly  severed  her  hand  at  the  wrist. 
One  of  her  eyes  was  entirely  cut  out  and  her  skull  was 
fractured.  A  daughter  eighteen  years  old  slept  in  an- 
other room.  She  was  awakened  by  the  screams  of  the 
children  and  rushed  to  bolt  her  door  just  in  time  tn  pre- 
vent the  insane  mother  from  forcing  an  entrance.  An 
old  colored  family  servant  who  was  preparing  breakfast 
downstairs  heard  the  noise  above  and  ran  upstairs  and 
tried  to  prevent  Mrs.  Smith  from  completing  her  bloody 
work.  Mrs.  Smith  chased  her  downstairs,  and  she  ran 
instantly  for  Mr.  Smith.  He  reached  the  room  just  as 
his  wife  was  beginning  to  batter  down  her  daughter's 
door.  As  soon  as  his  wife  saw  him  she  stopped,  and  he 
led  her  downstairs  and  placed  her  on  the  lounge.  Her 
strength  then  seemed  completely  gone,  and  she  lay  there 
muttering:  "God  told  me  to  do  it.  It  wa-  the  only  way. 
I  killed  them  rather  than  to  have  them  homeless  and  go 
tu  hell."  Previous  to  "her  attacks  upon  the  children  it 
was  found  that  Mrs.  Smith  had  taken  a  large  dose  uf  rat 
poi>on,  and  it  is  thought  she  will  die.  The  husband  is 
cra/ed  by  the  quadruple  murder  and  probable  suicide 


CULTURE  or  INTELLECT.  153 

'"God  told  me  to  do  it.  I  killed  them  rather  than  have 
them  homeless  and  go  to  hell."  The  command  of  God 
and  the  fear  of  hell !  What  fearful  crimes  these  two  de- 
lusions have  to  answer  for !  Better  a  thousand  times  that 
religion  had  never  been  heard  of  in  this  world. — N.  Y. 
Truth  Seeker,  1886. 

THE    SWALLOW-NEST. 

Louisa  came  to  the  mother  and  said:  "Mamma, 
come,  I  will  show  you  something  nice."  "What  is  it?" 
asked  the  mother."  "  Oh,  pray,  come  anyhow ;  you  will 
see ;  it  is  very  nice."  The  mother  went,  and  Louisa  led 
her  to  a  window  and  said  softly,  "Look  up  here! "  The 
mother  did  so,  and  saw  above  under  the  roof  a  swallow- 
nest,  iVoiu  which  four  little  bills  were  stretched,  and  four 
pairs  of  little  eyes  looked  forth.  "Now  look  out,"  said 
I  lie  child.  The  mother  did  so,  and  saw  a  swallow  fast 
(1  i-;i wing  near,  which  carried  a  fly  in  its  bill,  and  put  it 
quickly  into  the  little  open  beak  of  one  of  the  nestlings, 
flew  away  and  returned  again  and  again.  And  every 
time  she  fetched  a  lly  and  put  it  by  turns  into  one  of  the 
four  open  bills.  All  were  now  filled.  The  young  ones 
twittered  merrily,  and  the  old  swallow  soared  in  the  air, 
mingling  her  twittering  with  theirs. 

"Isn't  this  nice?"  asked  the  child.  "Who  told  the 
swallow  to  do  so?  Isn't  it  the  good  God  who  wills  that 
all  creatures  farewell?"  The  mother  replied:  "You  are 
mi>taken,  my  dear  child,  for  did  you  not  see  how  the 
poor  flies  were  writhing  in  the  bills  of  the  birds?  If 
( !od  really  wills  that  every  creature  fare  well,  why  does  he 
let  the  fly  be  so  cruelly  devoured  ?  No,  no,  experience 
teaches  that  it  is  nature's  law  that  every  creature  should 


154  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

struggle  for  existence.     The  strongest  of   every  kind 
usually  outlive  the  weaker  ones  in  the  struggle. 

THE   MOTHER    IS   DEAD. 

The  mother  died.  She  was  lying  in  the  coffin.  The 
father  led  his  two  oldest  sons  (one  of  them  fifteen,  the 
other  seventeen  years  old)  into  her  presence,  and  in  her 
face  reminded  them  of  the  many  benefits  they  had  re- 
ceived from  her  during  her  life,  praised  the  excellent 
qualities  of  her  mind,  and  made  them  vow  to  devote  their 
lives  to  virtue,  following  the  distinguished  example  of 
their  mother.  Then  he  continued:  "The  mother  is 
dead !  We  desire  heartily  to  see  her  again,  and  to  live 
forever  in  her  company;  but  will  this,  can  this  be?" 
Xo\v  the  younger  son  commenced  to  cry  aloud:  "O 
dear  mother,  my  mother,  come  back  again ! "  "  See," 
said  the  father,  "see  her,  how  she  looks!  There  appear 
already  traces  of  iier  decay;  her  complexion  is  not  so 
red  as  usual ;  it  has  turned  yellowish ;  her  eyes  are 
closed,  they  can  no  longer  see ;  she  hears  no  more  our 
voices;  her  hands  are  cold  and  will  never  again  feel 
pain.  Can  we  be  sure  that  she  is  still  alive?  Alas!  how 
can  it  be?  Nevertheless,  she  continues  living,  her  mind 
lives  still  in  the  kind,  virtuous  acts  she  has  performed 
during  her  life;  the  impressions  they  have  made  in  our 
minds  will  not  die  away,  they  will  last  forever.  Her 
excellent  example  must  induce  you  to  follow  in  her  foot- 
steps, and  to  grow  more  and  more  like  her  by  application, 
honesty,  kindness  and  benevolence.  Peace  to  her  forever 


ELEVENTH  LETTER. 

-tfXTHETICAL    REFINEMENT. 

Mothers  ought  also  to  provide  for  the  sesthctical  cult- 


CULTURE  OF  INTELLECT.  155 

lire  of  their  children,  by  which  to  satisfy  the  sense  of 
beauty  innate  in  every  man.  The  culture  of  this  sense 
facilitates  the  acquirement  of  virtue,  guards  against  thfc 
rude  excesses  of  their  age,  and  is  for  them  an  affluent 
source  of  innocent  pleasure.  This  sense  can  be  especially 
cultivated  by  singing  and  drawing.  Singing  is  a  branch 
of  education  which  particularly  belongs  to  our  depart- 
ment. Every  mother  should  take  care  in  singing,  this 
language  of  emotions ;  the  inclination  for  it  is  natural 
to  the  children,  they  invent  it  (if  they  have  no  chance 
to  learn"  it).  But  singing  must  not  be  taught  at  the  pi- 
ano in  the  years  of  which  I  am  here  speaking.  Sing 
them  rather  simple,  sweet  songs.  If  but  ten  pieces  are 
learned,  the  rest  will  be  easy  and  attractive  to  the  child. 
The  words  of  such  songs  will  be,  as  I  think,  best  con- 
iiucil  to  representing  natural  phenomena,  and  expressing 
the  feelings  peculiar  to  children.  Serenity  must  be  the 
key-note  of  all  the  airs. 

I) i-(i  whty  will  or  would  also  shorten,  in  winter,  many 
an  hour  for  children  five  years  old,  and  prove  for  them 
real  mental  culture.  What,  you  will  exclaim,  must  I 
instruct  my  children  also  in  drawing?  Dear  friend! 
I  do  not  intend  thus  to  enjoin  upon  you  a  heavy  burden. 
It  is  sufficient  if  you  teach  them  to  copy  simple  objects, 
either  leaves,  blossoms  or  fruits.  For  that,  we  need  but 
little  skill  on  our  part.  If  necessary,  models  can  be 
found  in  stores.  Even  drawing  from  nature  is  not  diffi- 
cult as  far  as  plain  objects  are  concerned.  Drawing  is 
done  with  the  slate-pencil  on  the  slate. 

Lead  your  children  frequently  to  the  temple  of  nature, 
in  order  to  make  them  sensible  of  her  beauties;  show 
them  the  sunrise,  the  rainbow,  the  views  from  the  top  of  a 


156  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

mountain,  the  starry  heavens,  the  sublime  phenomenon 
of  a  tempest,  the  fields  covered  with  flowers,  grain,  woods, 
etc.,  etc.  This  intercourse  with  nature  will  afford  the 
children  much  pure  enjoyment;  her  charms  are  inex- 
haustible and  ever  new.  But  you  must  open  their  eyes 
to  see  and  feel  them.  The  farmer  is  permitted  to  see  her 
wonders  every  day,  but  he  passes  them  by  indifferently, 
because  he  has  never  learned  to  appreciate  them,  or  anx- 
ious care  encumbers  his  mind  when  by  heat  some  ears  of 
his  wheat  are  bent.*  Says  Alexander  Humboldt  in  his 
"  Kosmos,"  second  volume :  "  I  would  not  omit  calling  at- 
tention to  the  fact  that  impressions  arising  from  appar- 
ently accidental  circumstances  often  exercise  so  powerful 
an  effect  on  the  youthful  mind  as  to  determine  the  whole 
direction  of  a  man's  career  through  life.  The  child's 
pleasure  in  the  form  of  countries  and  of  seas  and  lakes, 
as  delineated  in  maps;  the  desire  to  behold  Southern 
stars,  invisible  in  our  hemisphere;  the  representation  of 
palms  and  cedars  of  Lebanon,  may  all  implant  in  the 
mind  the  first  impulse  to  travel  to  distant  countries.  If 
I  might  be  permitted  to  instance  my  own  experience  and 
recall  to  mind  the  source  whence  sprang  my  early  and 
first  desire  to  visit  the  land  of  the  tropics,  I  should 
name  George  Forster's  delineation  of  the  South  Sea  Islands, 
and  a  colossal  dragon-tree  in  an  old  tower  of  the  Botan- 
ical Garden  of  Berlin."  Humboldt  went  when  he  was 
eighty  years  old  on  an  exploration  journey  to  Siberia, 
commissioned  by  the  emperor  of  Russia,  and  gave  a  glow- 
ing description  of  the  beautiful  scenery  of  that  country 
to  his  relative,  Bayard  Taylor,  who  paid  to  the  famous 

•Poems  of  E.  Kleist,  "  Spring." 


CULTURE  OF  INTELLECT.  157 

naturalist  a  visit  in  Berlin.  Christian  Hoelty  is  right 
when  he  sings  in  one  of  his  poems:  "O  wondrously 
beautiful  is  God's  earth,  and  worthy  to  be  merry  in  it; 
therefore  I  will  rejoice  in  it  till  I  am  dissolved  to  ashes." 
And  Susan  Wixon,  author  of  the  "  Golden  Apples,"  says: 
"  Another  summer  has  found  me  again  down  by  the  sea, 
inhaling  the  perfume  of  sweet  fern,  juniper,  pine,  cedar, 
and  all  the  sweet-scented  leaves  and  roots  that  gro\y,  and 
bud,  and  blossom  here,  in  nature's  wild-wood  garden, 
mixed  and  mingled  with  the  salt  sea  breezes  of  the  rest- 
less, untiring,  everlasting  ocean.  Scenery  unrivaled 
meets  the  gaze  at  every  turn.  All  combines  to  make  a 
picture  so  charmingly  beautifid  that  one  might  easily 
imagine  it  a  scene  from  fairy-land."  * 

The  theater  is  also  a  principal  resort  for  cultivating 
the  aesthetic  sense,  but  not  adapted  to  young  children,  be- 
cause.', in  most  of  the  plays,  love  plays  the  principal  part; 
there  are  but  few  exceptions,  e.  g.,  the  patriotic  plays  of 
Hottinger,  professor  of  Swiss  history,  in  Zurich,  com- 
posed for  the  youth.  But  there  are  a  great  many  dia- 
logues and  declamatory  pieces  which  can  be  used  for  aes- 
thetic culture  of*  the  mind. 


ILLUSTRATION. 

LITTLE     MAT. 

Little  Mat  could  in  the  town  where  he  lived  see  noth- 
ing of  the  beautiful  nature  but  a  small  piece  of  the  sky, 
as  wide  as  the  street.  If  his  father  took  him  sometimes 
with  him  into  the  country,  he  rejoiced  immensely,  be- 
cause all  things  were  new  to  him.  So  he  met  with,  at  one 

"Boston  Investigator,  "  FamQiar  Letters,"  1886. 


158  THE  EDUCATINC  MOTHER. 


time,  a  flower,  at  another  a  worm,  at  another  a  bird  which 
attracted  his  attention.  He  ran,  then,  after  his  father, 
crying,  "  Father,  father,  look  here,  the  charming  floweret ! 
the  pretty  little  bird!"  But  the  father  used  to  answer, 
"Nonsense!  Did  you  never  see  a  flower,  or  a  bird?" 
Once  the  boy  found  a  big  caterpillar.  He  picked  it  up 
with  surprise  and  brought  it  to  the  father,  .saving,  "See 
the  large  animal  I  found."  But  the  father  replied,  "Fie, 
the  ugly  creature !  throw  it  away !  crush  it ! "  As  Mat 
at  everything  he  saw  stopped  to  admire  it,  it  could  not 
happen  otherwise  but  that  he  often  lagged,  and  his 
father  had  to  wait  till  he  came  up  with  him.  The 
father  was  fretted;  he  rebuked  him  for  his  delay,  saying, 
"Go  on,  naughty  boy!  If  you  don't  walk  faster,  you 
must  certainly  stay  at  home." 

Mat  ran  again  a  little  ways ;  but  the  eagerness  to  con- 
sider all  things  around  him  was  much  too  strong  for  him 
to  be  able  to  subdue  it  right  off.  The  father  had  ad- 
vanced but  a  few  steps,  when  seeing  a  frog  jump,  and 
hearing  a  grasshopper  chirp,  our  Mat  stopped  again.  At 
length  the  father  got  enough  of  it;  he  took  Mat's  hand, 
dragged  him  along,  and  if  he  still  looked  sometimes  here, 
sometimes  there,  he  commenced  usually  the  following 
tale :  "  Go  on,  Mat,  go  on !  If  you  will  lively  stride  on, 
we  shall  soon  arrive  at  the  village ;  there  you  will  be 
more  pleased  than  here  in  the  empty  field ;  there  I  will 
order  coffee,  milk,  and  eggs — "  "And  I  shall  also  get 
something?"  "Of  course,  you  shall  have  two  cups. 
Only  go  on  !  Hurry  up !  There  I  shall  order  a  couple  of 
sausages  and  beer ;  that  will  be  fun."  Finally,  he  suc- 
ceeded by  this  trick  in  extinguishing  entirely  the  eager 
desire  of  the  boy  to  admire  fair  nature. 


CULTURE  OP  INTELLECT.  159 

In  course  of  time  as  he  walked  again  with  liis  father 
he  strode  quickly  on,  thought  of  the  cake,  of  the  beer, 
and,  to  the  great  pleasure  of  his  father,  left  nature  alone. 
Now  he  is  a  man ;  the  traces  of  his  education  are  still 
evident.  When  he  takes  a  walk,  he  hurries  through 
meadows,  woods,  and  fields,  not  seeing  any  remarkable 
objects.  Before  his  eyes  the  lark  flics  up ;  as  he  enters 
the  woods,  the  nightingale  salutes  him — he  does  not 
notice  it,  for  his  thoughts  are  already  in  the  beer-pot. 
Nature  attracted  only  once  more  his  attention,  when  the 
full  moon  was  rising.  He  called,  then,  to  his  companions : 
"  Zounds !  The  fair  moon,  how  she  hangs  there  like  a 
cake!" 


TWELFTH  LETTER. 

CULTURE   OF  MEMORY — INSTRUCTION   IN  THE   NATIVE   LANGUAGE. 

One  of  the  faculties  of  the  tender  child  which  is  most 
capable  of  culture  is  memory.  Who  is  not  astonished 
by  the  extent  of  knowledge  which  it  acquires  in  the  first 
years  of  life,  and,  in  fact,  Avithout  our  help  ?  What  must 
it  become  if  its  memory  through  the  whole  life  were  so 
active?  Its  careful  cultivation  is  the  duty  of  every 
mother.  On  the  first  grades  of  life,  single  words  and 
sentences  offer  material  for  exercises  of  memory.  To 
these  belong  chiefly  memorable  verses  and  proverbs. 
Later,  narratives  are  especially  a  good  material  for  train- 
ing. In  handling  the  material,  provide  intuitive  con- 
ceptions. If  an  object  cannot  be  produced  in  reality, 
have  recourse  to  images.  Quito  as  important  is  the 
Clearness  and  distinctness  of  the  expression.  Therefore, 
obscure  passages  of  the  subject  must  be  explained,  and 
their  meaning  disclosed  to  the  dull  pupil.  Reasons  must 


160  TIIK  EDIT  ATI  x<;  MOTHER. 

illustrate  the  matter.  As  similar  ideas  recall  each  other, 
you  will  fain  let  be  learned  by  heart  words  with  the 
same  initial,  rhymes,  and  series  of  things  of  the  same 
genus,  e.  g.,  glass,  grass,  gold,  goose,  grape;  bill,  hill, 
still,  ill,  will,  kill ;  dog,  spaniel,  hound,  grayhound,  ter- 
rier, mastiff,  Newfoundland  dog.  Exercises  of  mem- 
ory ought  to  be  diligently  carried  on  with  children  who 
are  five  years  old.  They  must  often  repeat  what  they 
have  learned.  Pedagogues  advise  us,  at  this  age,  to  lay 
principal  stress  on  the  verbal  memory,  i.  e.,  the  pupil 
ought  to  learn  what  he  learns,  word  by  word. 

An  important  branch  of  memory  is  the  gift  of  repre- 
sentation, or  the  faculty  to  communicate  to  others  our 
thoughts  and  emotions,  in  a  way  that  strikes  the  senses. 
The  communication  is  effected  by  the  eye  or  the  ear. 
We  represent  our  mind  perceptible  to  the  ear  by  lan- 
guage and  song,  visible  to  the  eye  by  writing  and  drawing. 
Speech  and  writing  are  the  usual  ways  of  mental  inter- 
course. In  particular,  the  native  language  (mother- 
tongue),  to  whom  can  it  be  more  important  as  an  object  of 
the  earliest  instruction  than  to  the  mother?  Therefore 
I  will  speak  of  it  first. 

The  language  of  the  child  should  demand,  at  the 
earliest  age,  all  of  our  attention.  But  supply  first,  al- 
ways, correct  perceptions  of  the  objects  (which  aim 
must  principally  be  obtained  by  cultivating  the  intuitive 
faculty)  ;  only  then  should  be  of  importance  to  you,  that 
it  learn,  also,  the  right  word  for  the  object.  Help  it  to 
acquire  a  rich  store  of  ideas.  What  can  language  sig- 
nify to  a  child  if  it  is  poor  in  thoughts?  If  some 
children  learn  late  to  speak,  you  know  now  what,  in 
most  cases,  is  the  reason  for  it.  Children,  too,  ought  to 


CULTURE  OF  INTELLECT.  161 

speak  correctly.  I  advise  you,  for  this  purpose,  to  pro- 
nounce a  word  several  times,  slowly  and  distinctly,  cor- 
rect their  faults  in  grammar,  and  invite  them  to  speak. 
Mother's  example  will  always  be  the  best  language  mas- 
ter. Dear  friend,  speak  correctly  yourself,  without  being 
afraid  of  the  sneering  of  your  surrounding  company, 
and  your  children  will  learn  to  speak  correctly.  You 
must  not  overlook  that  the  persons  who  surround  them 
also  influence  their  language.  Children  are  very  likely 
to  confound  resembling  conceptions  and  words,  e.  g.,  to 
lie  and  to  speak  untruly,  to  present  and  to  lend,  stupid 
and  mean,  etc.  Propose,  sometimes,  erroneous  expres- 
sions, and  let  the  child  correct  them. 

Dear  friend,  you  have  wondered  several  times  how  it 
was  possible  that  my  two  oldest  children  learned  so  soon 
to  read,  and  you  have  wished  to  know  how  this  success 
was  brought  about.  As  it  was  my  husband  who  taught 
them  reading,  he  takes  the  liberty  to  describe  for  you 
here  his  method. 


SUPPLEMENT. 

HOW   BOSA   AND   HENRY  LEARNED  TO   READ. 

In  part  by  the  good  talent  of  my  oldest  children,  Rosa 
and  Henry,  and  in  part  for  some  other  reasons,  I  was 
induced  to  try  what  children  four  or  five  years  old  can 
accomplish,  if  taught  by  the  new  method  of  reading 
lately  introduced  into  our  public  schools.  One  of  them, 
Rosa,  received,  from  a  kind  acquaintance,  a  primer  with 
prints,  as  a  present  on  her  third  birthday.  I  drew  on 
the  slate  the  printed  letters  for  her ;  some,  the  easier  ones, 
she  had  also  to  copy  by  drawing.  When  she  had  finished 
her  fourth  year,  she  was  able  to  read  books  and  writings. 
11 


162  TIM-:  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

The  boy,  Henry,  learned  first  the  written  letters.  Be- 
fore that  lie  had  frequently  to  resolve  monosyllables  and 
ili. -.-yllables  into  their  rounds.  He  also  must  imitate 
some  of  the  letters  on  the  slate.  After  half  a  year  he 
spelled  little  narratives  by  the  sound  of  letters.  The 
instruction,  for  the  rest,  was  not  carried  on  rigorously. 
The  boy  liked  it  so  much  that  he  often  asked  for  it  him- 
self. Unbidden,  when  he  was  playing,  he  often  spelled 
single  words.  The  method  I  followed  in  this  instruction 
was  chiefly  this  (still,  I  would  not  call  this  method  a 
model;  as  I  said  before,  I  am  speaking  only  of  an  experi- 
ment). 

IMAGES. 

As  I  have  noticed  already,  I  let  Henry  resolve  the 
vocables  into  their  sounds,  e.  (j.,  arn:,  a-r-m;  hat,  h-a-t; 
bed,  b-e-d.  The  vocables  were  mostly  monosyllables  and 
dissyllables.  Later,  I  continued  this  instruction  on  the 
slate.  But  in  it  I  did  not  at  first  succeed ;  the  letters 
which  the  boy  ought  to  copy  proved  poor,  and  I  could 
see  plainly  that  the  work  bored  him.  I  wished,  almost, 
to  have  Basedow's  cake-letters  at  hand.*  By  the  time 
one  letter  was  learned,  another  was  forgotten.  Then  I 
hit  upon  the  idea  of  putting  little  drawings  in  red  ink 
by  the  side  of  the  stiff  manikins  of  letters.  I  painted, 
therefore,  an  ox  near  the  letter  O,  a  mouse  near  the  M, 
etc.  Now  I  had  found  the  right  way.  The  drawings 
reminded  Henry- fast  of  the  sound  of  the  letter;  he  forgot 
nothing  more.  I  must  but  say,  "That's  an  ox,"  the 
vocable  "  ox "  commences  with  the  sound  of  "  O,"  the 


•Basedow,  a  celebrated  Swiss  iwdagugue,  when  lie  was  the  leader  of  a 
famous  institute  in  Dessau,  Germany,  gave  the  children  cakes,  which  repre- 
sented the  letters.  Of  course  his  method  was  very  successful 


CULTURE  OF  INTELLECT.  1G3 

letter  written  near  the  ox  sounds  also  "  O."  The  letter 
hud  u  good  mark ;  it  was  kept  forever  in  mind.  The 
boy  was  so  much  pleased  witli  the  little  pictures  that  he 
always  desired  to  see  them,  whereby  I  did  not  neglect 
MBlduougly  to  recall  the  sounds  of  the  adjoined  letters  to 
his  memory.  In  this  manner  I  drew  him  the  following 
small  pictures,  by  the  side  of  the  usual  letters  (I  follow 
now  the  alphabetic  order  of  the  letters):  Apple,  band, 
circle,  dove,  eagle,  fish,  gem,  house,  ice,  jacket,  keg,  lamp, 
mouse,  nut,  ox,  pipe,  quill,  rice,  saw,  table,  unicorn,  vest, 
worm,  yoke,  zebra.  Around  every  image  I  wrote  the 
appertaining  letters  several  times  in  different  sizes,  and 
below  several  vocables  in  which  it  occurs. 

« 
COMPOSITION    OF   THE   LETTERS. 

Another  means  employed  to  facilitate  Henry  in  get- 
ting a  knowledge  of  the  small  alphabet  was  this:  I 
showed  him  the  essential  parts  of  every  letter,  to  which 
end  I  formed  a  peculiar,  in  fact,  not  quite  a  methodical 
terminology,  e.  g.,  I  said :  "  I  is  a  straight  line  with  a  dot 
above-;  r  is  a  straight  line  with  a  dot  to  the  right  baud; 
a  is  similar  to  o,  but  has  in  addition  a  straight  line ;  1 
forms  a  sling;  b  is  a  sling  with  a  dot  below;  n  is  com- 
pound of  two,  and  m  of  three  lines ;  g  resembles  o,  but 
ends  with  a  sling  below ;  t  is  a  straight  line  with  a  cross- 
line,  etc. 

SKI; IKS    OF    THE    LETTERS — METHOD    OF  SPELLING    BY  SOUNDS   OF 
THE   LETTERS — LETTER-CHEST. 

In  order  to  make  the  learning  still  easier  for  the  boy, 
I  taught  him  at  first  only  a  few  letters,  on  which  I 
stopped  a  long  time,  and  which  I  put  together  in  different 
syllables  a.nd  vocables.  These  were,  besides,  letters  that 
in  the  pronunciation  are  striking,  also  are  easily  pro- 


104  Tiiis  EDUCATING  MOTHER 

nonnced,  and  have  very  simple  forms,  <•.  </.,  I  and  U,  B, 
T,  and  F,  D  and  G.  Mere  syllables  were  seldom  used, 
hecauso-they  do  not  contain  any  notions;  I  exhibited  so 
much  the  more  vocables  for  every  single  letter.  By  this 
method  the  letters  came  into  the  most  different  combina- 
tions, and  the  imagination  of  the  boy  joined  their  forms 
with  so  many  already  familiar  vocables  that  their  re- 
membrance also  was  forwarded  by  this  management.  I 
did  not  use  at  all  the  customary  spelling  method,  not 
teaching  the  boy  the  names,  but  .the  #<nin<l*,  of  the  let- 
ters. First,  when  in  a  word  a  new  letter  came  to  those 
he  had  already  pronounced,  I  let  him  repeat  all  preced- 
ing ones.  According  to  this  method  he  spelled,  c.  f/..  the 
vocable,  "  potato,"  thus:  P-o,  po;  t,  pot;  a,  pota;  t,  potat; 
o,  potato.  After  some  tune  it  was  enough  to  sound  the 
single  letters  of  a  word,  and  then  to  combine  them  all  in 
the  pronunciation  of  the  word ;  so  he  spelled  "  Adam," 
thus :  A-d-a-m,  Adam.  By  this  method  Henry  learned 
to  read  written  exercises  before  he  Avas  five  years  old. 

In  order  to  teach  him  to  read  more  easily  and  with 
more  interest  printed  pieces,  I  cut  small  pieces  of  paste- 
board, all  of  the  same  size,  on  which  I  wrote  the  printed 
letters,  many  copies  of  each  one.  During  the  long 
winter  evenings  it  was  the  task  of  the  boy  to  compose 
with  them  for  himself  certain  words,  which  he  must  file, 
letter  to  letter.  I  let  his  sister  take  part  of  this  occupa- 
tion, in  order  to  make  it  more  pleasant,  and  I  determined 
a  small  recompense  in  case  that  they  succeeded  in  it. 
In  this  way  he  acquired  the  knowledge  of  the  printed 
letters  from  his  sister  and  me  within  three  days,  and 
hence  this  composition  was  to  him  an  agreeablr  pastime. 
When  it  was  finished  all  letters  were  collected  and  kept 


CULTURE  OF  INTELLECT.  165 

in  a  little  box.  This  letter-chest,  as  they  call  it,  which  I 
constructed  according  to  Niemeyer's  advice,  is  generally 
to  be  recommended. 

Lastly,  I  recollect  still  with  pleasure,  that  both  Henry 
and  Rosa  liked  to  spell  in  the  joint  collection  of  narra- 
tives,* which  circumstance  may  have  helped  them  to 
learn  to  read  faster.  At  least,  it  cannot  be  denied  that 
well-selected  subjects  of  reading  smooth  the  notoriously 
thorny  pathway  of  learning  to  read.f 


THIRTEENTH  LETTER. 

THE  KINDERGARTEN.  • 

I  cannot  conclude  this  part  of  pedagogics  without  con- 
sidering the  institutes  which,  you  know,  are  called  "  Kin- 
dergsertens,"  in  which  not  only  the  intellect,  but  also  the 
heart,  of  the  little  ones  is  cultivated.  Besides,  attention 
is  there  given  to  the  physical  training ;  in  a  word,  the 
so-called  Kindergarten  educates  the  whole  human  being. 
What  the  single  mother,  if  she  has  leisure,  fair  educa- 
tion, and  good-will,  is  to  her  children,  these  establish- 
ments of  humanity  are  for  all  the  children  of  a  place. 
They  are  frequented  by  children  from  three  to  six  years 
of  age.  Usually  a  worthy  couple  of  married  persons 
guides  them,  and  takes  the  place  of  the  parents  of  the 

*See,  after  the  thirtieth  letter,  the  supplement. 

tThis  essay  on  teaching  to  read  was  written  in  a  German  country  for 
German  children,  and  can  hardly  be  closely  followed  in  American  schoolt),  for 
the  difference  between  the  German  and  English  pronunciation  is  too  great. 
In  the  German  language  the  vowels,  and  indeed  the  consonants,  too  (with  a 
few  exceptions),  represent  only  one  sound,  but  it  is  not  so  in  English,  e.  •/., 
the  vowel  a  represents  ten  different  sounds.  There  are  words  whose  pro- 
nunciation has  no  similarity  at  all  with  the  sound  of  their  letters.  Still,  in 
my  opinion,  that  method  is  also  for  b.'ginners  of  English  spelling  the  easiest 
and  best.  When  they  have  learned,  according  to  it,  to  read  plain,  easy 
words,  then  the  teacher  should  follow  the  usual  method,  guided  by  the 
eminent  "  principles  of  pronunciation "  impacted  in  Noah  Webster's  diction- 
ary, and  by  a  good  primer  or  spelling-book.  [Remark  of  the  editor. 


166  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

children.  He  who  is  prevented  by  inability  or  profes- 
sional business  to  train  his  children  himself,  sends  them 
to  these  institutions,  and  has  them  returned  to  him  im- 
proved in  both  mind  and  body.  Most  of  the  European 
Governments  introduced  them,  because  they  compre- 
hended their  usefulness.  We  find  them  in  all  considera- 
ble cities  of  Germany,  and,  every  year,  new  ones  are 
'started.  They  ought  to  become  as  general  as  the  com- 
mon schools,  and  the  children  of  the  farmer  ought  also  to 
enjoy  them.  It  is  evident  what  a  blessing  then  would 
be  diffused  throughout  whole  countries.  But  until  they 
become  more  frequent,  the  mental  culture  of  the  children 
in  the  first  years  of  life  will  be  the  concern,  mainly,  of 
mothers.  But,  in  most  cases,  it  will  either  be  very  im- 
•  perfect,  or  destroy  the  forces  of  a  loving  mother.  I  can 
testify  thereto  by  my  own  experience.  Alas !  how  often, 
when  I  lived  in  the  country,  did  I  desire  a  Kindergarten 
near  the  village  school.  I  was  to  take  care  of  four 
little  children,  and  had  no  servant-girl.  True,  Rousseau 
insists  that  the  father  imparts  instruction  to  his  children 
himself,  and,  indeed,  my  dear  husband  taught  our  two 
oldest  children  to  read,  himself.  But  that  was  far  from 
being  enough.  Surely  the  children  could  not  be  reading 
the  whole  day ;  the  boys  wanted  to  be  in  the  street  with 
their  playmates;  the  two  youngest  had  ten  different 
physical  wants,  and  I  was  alone.  Then  I  felt  keenly 
how  necessary  Kindergartens  are  in  the  country,  and  a 
hundred  times  I  expressed  to  my  husband  the  di-siiv  that 
such  an  institution  might  be  established  in  our  village. 
Since  I  have  been  living  in  town,  and  have  had  two 
boys  in  the  Kindergarten,  I  feel  new-born.  I  do  not  say 
that  these  institutions  are  already  perfected,  but  they 


CULTURE  OF  INTELLECT.  1G7 

released  me  from  the  care  of  mental  culture  and  occupa- 
tion of  the  boys.  In  general,  the  education  is  certainly 
conducted  better  in  the  Kindergarten  than  at  home ; 
there  are  but  few  objections  which  can  be  raised  against, 
this  general  rule.  May  they,  in  our  own  State,  soon  be 
organized  everywhere. 

Knowing  the  interest  you  take  in  this  subject,  I  aj> 
pend  to  my  letter  an  outline  of  a  book  that  describes  in 
full  "  Froebel's  Kindergarten." 


SUPPLEMENT. 

AN   OUTLINE  OF   FROEBEI/S   KINDERGARTEN.* 

What  does  the  name  "  Froebel's  Kindergarten " 
signify?  Frederic  Froebel  having  taken  hold  of  the 
idea  of  founding  an  institute  for  such  children  who,  for 
the  sake  of  their  tender  age,  are  still  unable  to  go  to 
school,  meditated  during  a  solitary  walk,  when  surrounded 
by  unbounded  nature,  what  name  he  should  give  to  the 
new  institution,  and  at  last  in  enthusiasm  exclaimed :  "  It 
shall  be  called  '  Kindergarten.' "  It  is  seen  that  this 
term  is  not  to  be  understood  in  its  usual  sense,  but  means 
a  kind  of  preparatory  school,  whose  work  is  to  train  for 
the  school  proper.  And  the  fitness  of  the  expression  can 
be  easily  proved,  for  we  like  to  compare  children,  in  gen- 
eral, with  plants,  young  trees,  and  flowers,  which  need 
the  care  and  culture  of  the  gardener.  Considered  under 
this  image,  not  only  the  garden  where  the  little  ones 
meet,  but  even  their  school-room  becomes  a  garden. 
And  what  are  these  Kindergartens  ?  Instead  of  annoy- 

*.E  or  ii  is  pronounced  like  a  in  "  at." 


168  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

ing  you  by  a  dry  definition,  I  will  introduce  you  directly 
into  such  a  garden. 

We  enter  a  large,  clear,  and  quiet  room,  which  opens 
into  a  garden,  the  grass-plots  and  little  flower-beds  of 
which  we  can  see  through  the  cleanly  washed  windows. 
The  easily  movable  tables  are  placed  in  such  a  way  that 
they  have  convenient  light;  arm-chairs  are  near  them. 
It  is  8  or  9  o'clock  in  the  morning.  From  eighteen  to 
twenty-five  children,  from  three  to  six  years  old,  have  as- 
sembled around  "the  aunt."  After  they  have  saluted 
the  teacher,  and  she  has  satisfied  herself  of  their  clean, 
fair  appearance,  a  morning  air  is  sung,  then,  perhaps,  for 
a  quarter  of  an  hour,  something  narrated  or  read  to  them 
from  a  good  juvenile  writing.  We  do  not  see  there  slates, 
primers,  and  knit-work ;  but  the  little  ones  produce  their 
caskets,  which  hide  a  world  of  cubes  and  tablets;  these 
are  the  building-caskets.  In  cheerful  imitation  of  the 
parental  home,  they  are  building  here  a  table,  a  chair, 
or  a  little  bench,  there  a  hearth,  an  anvil,  a  door,  a  stair- 
case, or  the  wall  of  a  room  with  little  staffs,  or  a  whole 
house  by  sticking  the  staffs  into  soaked  peas.  They  ac- 
company their  work  with  a  merry  song.  Whei  the  chil- 
dren have  been  about  half  an  hour  building,  and  then, 
perhaps,  also  have  finished  their  breakfast,  they  walk  into 
the  garden,  and  soon  they  surround  their  little  beds,  in 
order  to  water  the  flowers,  to  pull  the  weeds,  or  to  search 
for  the  grains  which  they  sowed  not  long  ago. 

Here  is  a  beetle,  there  an  ant,  here  a  bee,  there  a 
spider  to  be  observed.  A  brisk  lambkin  bleats  cheer- 
fully to  the  children ;  a  flock  of  pigeons  fly  joyfully  down 
over  the  playground  to  receive  the  grains  their  little 
hands  are  dealing  out  to  them.  At  the  side  of  the  gar- 


CULTURE  OF  INTELLECT.  169 

den  there  is  the  playground  of  the  children.  There  they 
freely  bustle,  sometimes  in  single  groups,  jumping  and 
wrestling,  sometimes  all  joining  hands  for  a  general  play. 
Now  begins  the  bee-game,  which  they  accompany  with 
song,  then  the  dove-play  follows,  and  if  the  weather  is 
unfavorable  they  assemble  in  the  play-room,  in  order  to 
engage  in  little  exercises  of  order  and  drilling  which  are 
as  appropriate  for  the  girls  as  for  the  boys. 

The  half  hour  of  playing  has  passed,  and  half  an  hour 
of  working  follows.  We  approach  the  table  at  which 
the  little  ones  already  are  assembled.  The  aunt  gives 
them  pliant  paper.  They  try  to  give  it  regular  forms. 
The  square  changes  to  a  triangle,  a  rectangle,  this  one 
again  to  a  square,  and  the  last  to  a  triangle.  Now,  out 
from  these  general  forms  grow,  still  successively,  special 
figures ;  here  a  table,  there  a  mill,  now  a  boat,  a  Turk- 
ish ship,  now  a  drawer,  a  looking-glass.  Side  walls  are 
fastened  only  by  plying,  or  by  cross-barring,  orm  by  paste. 
Older  children  work  in  pasteboard.  At  another  table 
larger  children  are  seated.  Some  have  little  piles  of  pa- 
per at  hand,  i.  e.,  several  white  qr  colored  leaves  9f  paper 
put  one  over  the  other.  On  the  uppermost  page  of  the 
pile  is  an  image,  a  flower  or  another  object  drawn ;  they 
hold  a  style  with  a  short  needle,  and  pierce  the  outline 
of  these  figures  by  little  points  so  that  they  simultane- 
ously appear  on  all  those  leaves.  Near  them  are  seated 
others  who  paint  the  pierced  leaves  with  one  or  several 
colors.  They  feel  happy,  for  now  they  can,  for  a  bright 
festival,  carve  themselves  the  desire  of  their  heart,  and 
present  a  gift  of  their  own  hand  to  their  dear  ones.  So 
the  variegated  work  goes  on.  Here  larger  children  cut 
out,  and  rejoice  at  the  pretty  forms  they  produce.  Oth- 


170  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

ers  make,  from  colored  pieces  of  paper,  net-work  for 
pocket-books,  tablets,  etc. 

Drawing,  methodical  drawing,  forms  a.  principal  part 
among  the  exercises  Of  course  here  is  meant  only  net- 
drawing,  and  in  straight  lines.  If  the  adversaries  of 
Froebel's  playing  method  censure  many  parts,  it  is  differ- 
ent with  regard  to  the  last-named  branch ;  drawing  is, 
even  by  them,  acknowledged  as  a  reasonable  and  praise- 
worthy occupation. 

Finally,  moulding  is  admitted,  too,  into  the  Kindergar- 
ten ;  true,  on  the  fingers  and  the  little  wooden  knives  the 
child  receives  for  his  play,  stick  particles  of  the  clammy 
clay ;  but  he  can  learn  hereby  that  the  blouse  of  the 
workman  and  his  callous  hand  do  not  deprive  him  of 
his  inner  worth.  It  is  this  very  property  which  renders, 
in  part,  Froebel's  idea  of  education  so  significant  that  it 
tries  to  open  every  heart  for  beautiful  objects,  that,  espe- 
cially, it  endeavors  to  elevate  the  social  position  of  the 
workman  by  higher  culture,  and  considers  it  to  be  the 
task  of  education. 

According  to  Froebel's  system  the  playtime  of  the 
child  begins  rather  early.  The  mother  lulls  it,  and  ac- 
customs it  by  song  to  apprehend  and  imitate  sweet  tones. 
It  learns  imperceptibly  to  know  and  name  many  things ; 
it  plays  and  talks  with  them,  as  with  living  beings.  The 
urgency  for  fables  and  stories  is  scirriug.  At  this  station 
of  life  the  tutoress  has  already  a  larger  area  to  use  the 
child's  play  as  an  implement  of  culture,  exercising 
thereby  a  positive  influence  upon  the  child  for  its  entire 
life. 

Froebel  gave  particular  attention  to  the  play  and  oc- 
cupation with  ball,  globe,  and  cube ;  thereby  the  child  by 


CULTURE  OF  INTELLECT.  171 

play  is  getting  acquainted  with  many  elements  which  in 
the  school  proper  again  occur.  The  first  plaything 
he  gives  to  the  child  is  the  ball,  something  that  can  be 
grasped,  the  simplest  geometric  body.  The  balls  can  be 
differently  colored  in  order  to  develop  the  sense  of  color. 
The  ball  may  hang  upon  a  string,  rest,  swing,  rest  on  a 
plane,  or  can  roll.  An  apple,  &,  globe,  can  take  its  place. 
The  second  play-gifts  are  cube  and  cylinder.  As  third 
one  appears  a  building-casket,  which  contains  eight  small 
cubes,  forming  together  a  large  one.  The  fourth  gift  is 
again  a  cube,  but  divided  in  eight  tablets,  which  serre  for 
building ;  the  fifth  contains  a  still  larger  cube,  wliich  is  so 
divided  that  three  whole,  six  halves,  and  twelve  quarters 
of  a  cqjbe  are  produced.  The  sixth  casket  adds  still 
longitudinal  tablets.  With  both  the  whole  cube  and  its 
parts  the  children  represent  various  forms  of  life,  taste, 
and  knowledge ;  e.  g.,  the  entire  cube  can  be  now  a  table, 
on  which  something  is  put  for  the  child,  now  a  chair, 
upon  which  the  mother  is  seated  with  the  child,  now  the 
chest  in  which  something  is  locked  up,  etc.,  etc.  With 
the  divided  cube  can  an  arm-chair,  a  sofa,  a  bedstead,  a 
cupboard,  a  trunk,  a  staircase,  a  house,  door,  hamlet,  a 
bridge,  a  pillar  be  represented.  In  order  to  make  the 
image  more  animated,  the  mother  accompanies  the  play 
with  her  speech,  e.  fj. :  "  There  is  the  chair  of  grandmother, 
upon  which  she  takes  her  seat ;  she  takes  the  child  in 
her  lap  if  it  is  still,  and  narrates  to  him  something.  She  is 
yet  in  the  kitchen,  and  cooks  soup  for  the  father."  If  it  is 
a  child  of  a  more  advanced  age,  little  stories  referring  to 
the  play  can  be  narrated  to  him.  So  results  from  every 
representation  something  relating  to  the  life  of  the  child. 
Hereby  Froebel  wants  all  cubes,  at  every  representation, 


172  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

to  be  used.  Nothing  shall  be  left,  in  this  play,  unused, 
as  it  also  would  not  happen  in  real  life.  It  serves  the 
welfare  and  peace  of  both  the  individual  and  mankind, 
and  is  one  of  the  highest  aims  of  these  plays,  to  develop 
betimes  the  inner  and  external  eye  of  man  for  the  pru- 
dent formation  of  the  circumstances  of  life. 

Which  is  the  origin  of  the  Kindergarten,  and  their 
present  state  (1872)?  There  were  schools  for  little  chil- 
dren in  Germany,  England,  and  France  already  50  years 
before.  Such  one  was  founded  1830  in  Vienna;  it  con- 
tained! 200  children,  and  was  conducted  by  a  male  and  a 
female  teacher.  The  Empress  of  Austria  was  the  patron 
of  the  institute.  In  Zurich  I  found  two  similar  estab- 
lishments. In  1840  Frederic  Froebel  came  forth  at  the 
public  festival  of  Guttenberg,  and  founded,  the  28th  of 
June,  the  first  German  Kindergarten  in  Keilhau,  near 
Rudolstadt.  First  the  institute  did  not  prosper;  they 
spied  out  the  democrat  in  Froebel,  and  doubted  his 
orthodoxy  because  he  was  devoted  to  pantheism.  In 
Prussia  his  institutes  were  prohibited  by  the  ministry  of 
public  instruction,  and  the  interdict  lasted  valid  during 
several  years.  But  the  Duke  of  Meiningen  conceded  him 
in  1850  the  hunting  castle  Marienthal  for  his  purpose. 
In  1852  Froebel  died.  His  grave  is  adorned  by  a  mas- 
sive cube,  upon  which  a  column  rises  sustaining  a  globe. 
On  the  cube  the  words  are  inscribed :  "  Come,  let  us  live 
for  the  children!"  In  Munich  the  Froebel  Society  had 
(1872)  over  700  members;  they  started  four  Kinder- 
gartens; in  Leipsic  were  seven,  in  Hamburg  twenty  or- 
ganized. In  America  there  are  several,  viz.,  in  Boston, 
San  Francisco,  Milwaukee,  San  Jose  (Cal.),  and  other 
cities.  The  Kindergarten  in  Hoboken  (New  York)  had 
300  children  with  three  lady  teachers  (1874). 


CULTURE  OF  INTELLECT.  173 

Now,  if  we  inquire  for  the  worth  and  importance  of  the 
Kindergarten,  their  friends  and  patrons  answer  us  thus: 
It  is  a  fact  that,  so  far,  there  was  lacking  an  institute 
preparing  youth  for  the  time  when  they  would  go  to  the 
school  proper;  a  fact  that  domestic  education  manages 
that  preparation  often  imperfectly,  or  neglects  it ;  a  fact  that 
such  a  deficiency  or  neglect  much  impedes  or  entirely 
frustrates  the  success  of  the  school  instruction. 

If  a  little  tree  has  not  been  taken  care  of  during  five 
or  ,<ix  years,  and  in  this  time  has  grown  crooked,  will  the 
gardener  easily  succeed  in  training  it  straightly  ?  Further, 
there  are  in  great  cities  parents  who  lack  either  the 
necessary  knowledge  and  experience,  or  time  and  oppor- 
tunity, to  take  care  of  the  education  of  their  children 
themselves.  The  father  must  attend  to  his  business  far 
from  home ;  the  mother  has  her  time  taken  up  by  tending 
to  her  housework  or  nursing  a  babe.  Would  it  not  be 
an  advantage  for  both  classes  of  parents,  if  an  opportunity 
would  be  offered  to  them  to  guard  their  little  ones  in  a 
Kindergarten  against  the  dangers  which  menace  their  life 
and  health,  and  to  know  they  are  guided  by  a  tutoress  who 
is  acquainted  with  the  principles  of  education,  and  gives 
up  herself  to  her  beautiful  vocation  lovingly  and  conscien- 
tiously ;  in  an  establishment  where  the  body  of  the  chil- 
divu  can  grow  strong,  their  senses  be  exercised,  their 
mind  be  developed? 

But  let  us  organize  Kindergartens  in  our  own  families, 
too.  Generally,  it  is  the  highest  duty  of  parents,  in  par- 
ticular of  mothers,  to  take  care  of  the  first  training  of 
their  children.  If  they  leave  it  to  hired  substitutes,  they 
act  at  least  very  heedlessly.  What  could  be  more 
agreeable,  especially  for  mothers,  than  to  bring  up  their 


174  Tin:  EDUCATING  MOTH  F.I:. 

children  in  the  principles  of  Froebel's  Kindergarten? 
How  blessed  is  the  consciousness  of  having  elicited,  de- 
veloped, and  cultivated  the  mental  blossoms  of  our  chil- 
dren, (o  have  planted  the  seed  of  virtue  and  good  man- 
ner;-; in  the  soil  of  their  mind  !  How  pleasant  is  the 
prospect  in  the  future  where  the  blossoms  of  their  mind 
will  ripen  to  beautiful  fruits,  and  the  seeds  of  morality 
will  yield  a  plentiful  harvest !  Therefore  I  call  to  you 
Froebel's  device,  "  Come,  fathers,  mothers,  let  us  live  for 
our  children." 

Besides  Froebel,   Dr.  A.   Douai  has   written  on  the 
Kindergserten  in  English  and  German. 


MORAL  CULTURE. 

"Go,  and  do  thou  likewise." — BIBLE. 


FIRST  SECTION— MORAL  CULTURE  IN  GENERAL. 


FOURTEENTH  LETTER. 

PRELIMINARY    NOTIONS — ESSENCE  OF  REASON   AND  MIND;  DIFFER- 
ENCE BETWEEN   RIGUT  AND   LEGALITY,    MORALITY  AND  MAN- 
NERS, REASON  AND  INTELLECT,  EMOTION  AND  SENSATION. 

Dearest  friend,  thank  heaven,  we  have  now  the 
thorny  fields  of  intellectual  training  behind  ns,  and 
presently  to  our  educating  activity  opens  a  new  scene, 
more  attractive  for  the  peculiarity  of  our  nature,' and 
more  appropriate  to  attain  the  wreath  of  a  more  tranquil 
glory ;  it  is  the  beautiful  region  of  moral  culture  of  our 
children  to  which  I  now  lead  you.  In  order  to  render 
my  communication  clearer,  I  shall  write  first  on  moral 


MORAL  CULTURE.  175 


culture  iu  general,  then  on  the  means  and  ways  to  culti- 
vut''  the  hearts  of  your  children  for  single  moral  features 
of  character,  indeed  the  noblest  which  can  adorn  a  juve- 
nile mind.  To  this  purpose  it  will  be  necessary  to  pre- 
mise some  preliminary  notions.  I  come  to  the  point. 

You  know  the  splendid  parable  of  the  good  Samaritan 
which  is  related  in  the  Bible ;  what  induced  the  Samaritan 
1 1  >  act  as  he  did  ?  The  compassion  of  his  heart,  the  light  of 
reason.  Reason  is  the  fountain  from  which  our  good  actions 
emanate ;  reason  is  the  faculty  of  the  mind  to  discern 
what  is  good  and  bad,  right  and  wrong*  Reason  is  also 
called  heart,  mind  (in  the  strictest  sense),  and  moral 
sense.  Right  pleases  absolutely,  not  like  worldly  goods, 
only  under  certain  circumstances ;  it  pleases  universally. 
So,  e.  g.,  neither  the  rascal  can  refuse,  his  respect  to  that 
Roman  lady,  Cornelia,  who  contemplated  the  excellent 
education  of  her  sons  as  her  only  finery.  Right  pleases 
also  forever ;  even  after  a  thousand  years  will  the  faithful 
maternal  love  of  the  Princess  of  Schwarzenberg  be  ac- 
knowledged and  admired.* 

As  I  said,  reason  is  the  faculty  to  discern  what  is  good 
and  bad,  right  and  wrong.  But  this  word  is  frequently 
taken  identically  Avith  the  expression  "intellect;"  this 
ought  not  to  be,  for  there  is  a  wide  difference  between 
both ;  e.  g.,  the  seizure  of  the  Prince  of  Enghien  shows  the 
cunning  intellect  of  Napoleon,  but  it  was  not  a  noble 
deed.  The  province  of  intellect  is  to  select  prudently 
the  means  for  fixed  purposes,  but  to  reason  ought  to  de- 
volve the  perception  of  that  which  is  good  and  noble. 

It  is  still  necessary  to  explain  the  term  "  mind."  I 
shall  be  short.  Mind,  in  general,  is  the  spiritual  nature 

*See  "  illustrations  "  at  the  end  of  the  letter. 


176  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

or  soul  of  man;  in  the  stricter  sense  it  is  the  power  of 

emotions  and  choices.  Our  actions  are  preceded  by 
emotions,  these  by  perceptions.  Emotions  and  sensa- 
tions are  not  the  same  states  in  man.  'The  sounds  of  a 
song  cause  a  certain  sensation  La  the  organ  of  hearing; 
its  beauty  or  sublimity  produces  an  oiiofion.  The  sick 
child  lias  a  x<in*u1iuii  of  its  pain;  the  emotions  of  its 
mother  arc  affected  by  it.  The  emotions  are  in  a  near 
contact  with  the  heart;  e.  g.,  joy  makes  it  beat  faster; 
ffiti;  to  tremble,  and  terror  can  even  paralyze  it.  For 
this  close  connection  of  the  heart  and  our  emotions  we 
say  that  a  good  man  has  a  good  heart.  Emotions  are 
the  bridges  of  our  actions,  for  they  rise  from  perceptions, 
and  lead  to  actions.  Vehement  emotions  are  called 
(tffi'ctinnx;  blind  affections,  passions.  The  word  "feel- 
ing "  signifies  both  sensation  and  emotion. 

In  concluding  my  letter  I  wish  to  direct  your  atten- 
tion to  some  other  distinctions  which  belong  to  this  place. 
Relic/ion  and  morality  differ.  The  object  of  that  one  is 
God,  of  this  one,  man.  Quite  as  different  are  morality 
and  rii/lit.  The  latter  may  be  joined  with  compulsion, 
which  means  that  its  fulfillment  may  be  enforced  in  case 
of  necessity.  It  is  not  so  with  morality;  an  enforced 
morality  is  no  morality  at  all.  If  the  pure  intention  is 
missing  in  the  performance  of  a  duty  of  right,  we;  prac- 
tice only  legality.  At  last  the  historical  right  is  to  be 
distinguished  from  the  right  of  reason;  that  is  often 
founded  alone  in  the  agreement  of  men,  and  turns  a  most 
atrocious  wrong.  Such  was,  in  some  States  of  North 
America,  the  right  to  hold  slaves.  To  the  contrary,  the 
right  of  reason  (natural  law)  is  written  by  nature  with 
indelible  characters  in  every  feeling  human  heart.  Fi- 


MORAL,  CULTURE.  177 

nally,  how  far  mere  good  manners  are  from  morality — of 
that  not  a  word  more.  Without  that  this  letter  became 
longer  than  I  wished ;  in  every  case  it  suffices  to  under- 
stand the  following  letters  easily. 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

THE  GOOD  SAMARITAN.* 

A  certain  lawer  stood  up  and  said  to  Jesus,  "  Who  is 
my  neighbor?"  Jesus  answering,  said:  "A  certain 
man  went  down  from  Jerusalem  to  Jericho,  and  fell 
among  thieves,  who  stripped  him  of  his  raiment, 
wounded  him,  and  departed,  leaving  him  half  dead.  And 
by  chance  there  came  down  a  certain  priest  that  way ; 
and  when  he  saw  him,  he  passed  by  on  the  other  side. 
And  likewise  a  Levite,  when  he  was  at  the  place,  came 
and  looked  on  him,  and  passed  by  on  the  other  side. 
But  a  certain  Samaritan,  as  he  journeyed,  came  where  he 
was,  and  when  he  saw  him  he  had  compassion  on  him, 
went  to  him,  and  bound  up  his  wounds,  pouring  in  oil 
and  wine,  and  set  him  on  his  own  beast,  and  brought  him 
to  an  inn,  and  took  care  of  him,  and  on  the  morrow  when 
he  departed,  lie  took  out  two  pence  and  gave  them  to  the 
host,  and  said  unto  him,  '  Take  care  of  him ;  and  what- 
soever thou  spendest  more,  when  I  come  again  I  will  re- 
pay thee.'  Which  now  of  these  three,  thinkest  thou,  was 
neighbor  unto  him  that  fell  among  the  thieves? '  And  lie 
ttiid,  "He  that  showed  mercy  on  him."  Then  said  Jesus 
unto  him,  "  Go  and  do  thou  likewise." 

PRINCESS   PAULINA  SCHWARZENBKRG. 

As  Emperor  Napoleon  I.  married  Maria  Louisa,  of 

•Bible. 


178  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

Austria  (1810)  a  splendid  ball  in  the  imperial  palace 
concluded  the  ceremonies  of  the  nuptials.  '  Princess 
Paulina  Schwarzenberg,  of  Vienna,  a  friend  of  the  younir 
empress,  also  took  part  in  it  as  one  of  the  ball  guests. 
During  the  nocturnal  festival,  when  the  whole  assembly 
were  dancing,  the  sudden  cry  was  heard,  "  Fire,  fire  in 
the  palace!"  So  it  was.  The  conflagration  increased 
rapidly.  All  the  dancers  flew  from  the  ball-rooms  ;  s<  > 
did  Pauline  Sclnvarzenberg,  but  herdaughter  was  missing. 
None  of  the  company  had  seen  her,  none  could  give 
the  mother  intelligence  of  the  absent.  Now  she  rushed 
back  into  the  empty  apartments,  hastening  from  one  to 
the  other,  searching  and  hallooing  after  the  beloved  one, 
but  to  no  use ;  no  answer  was  returned  to  her.  Fire  and 
smoke  grew  fiercer,  and  wrapped  up  the  unhappy  mother ; 
she  died  in  the  flames.  Meanwhile  her  daughter  was 
safe,  having  retired  in  time  from  the  ball-rooms.  The 
mother  had  died  a  sacrifice  for  her  child ! 


FIFTEENTH  LETTER. 

MEANS   OF   MORAL  CULTURE. 

The  most  efficacious  means  which  serve  for  moral  cult- 
ure are  the  oral  and  written  instruction,  the  example, 
recompenses  and  punishments.  Ignorance  protects  at 
least  against  deterioration  of  the  naturally  sound  condi- 
tion of  mind.  To  these  means  hilarious  games  are  to  be 
added.  Let  me  now  consider  each  of  these  ways  of  cult- 
ure in  particular.  I  commence  with  the  instruction  im- 
parted by  the  living  word  of  the  mother. 

Both  knowledge  of  morals  and  of  rights  are  also  im- 
portant objects  in  the  instruction  of  young  children.  The 
following  articles  of  ethics  ought  to  be  communicated  to 


MORAL  CULTURE.  179 


them.  Of  the  duties  toward  ourselves :  "  Be  cautious  in 
all  your  actions;  be  temperate  in  the  use  of  food  and 
drink  ;  be  clean  in  every  respect ;  use  every  opportunity 
to  learn  useful  things ;  do  nothing  for  which  you  must 
blush  if  the  parents  should  sec  you."  Duties  towards 
other  persons :  "  Be  kind  and  polite,  sincere  and  true,  oblig- 
ing :-.nd  benevolent  towards  everybody.  Obey,  honor,  and 
love  parents,  and  be  grateful  to  them.  You  should  re- 
spect and  honor  aged  people,  be  polite  toward  strangers, 
pardon  your  playmates,  if  they  offend  you,  and  never 
return  evil  for  evil  Finally,  plague  nc  animal." 

Communicate,  also,  the  motives  of  these  duties  to  the 
children,  if  they  are  able  to  understand  them,  and  they 
are  oftener  able  to  do  it  than  we  think.  Children,  too,  un- 
derstand arguments  of  reason ;  at  least  they  feel  their 
weight.  Represent  their  behavior  as  beautiful,  good, 
praiseworthy,  and  agreeable  to  you ;  inform  them  of  the 
consequences  of  bad  actions,  e.  g.,  the  imprudent  hurts 
his  health,  the  lazy  incurs  shame  and  contempt.  Exam- 
ples should  be  given  to  illustrate  the  doctrine  of  duties 
and  to  incite  the  imitative  instinct.  For  the  rest,  ethics, 
too,  must  be  taught  only  occasionally.  At  best  you  could 
give  regular  instruction  to  your  William,  who  is  five  years 
old,  every  week  for  half  an  hour.  Concerning  the 
younger  children,  you  instruct  them  best  sometimes  be- 
fore, sometimes  after  an  action  which  they  ought  to  per- 
form. I  warn  you  against  long,  frequent  moralizing. 
Your  speech  should  be  always  vigorous,  penetrating  into 
the  heart,  intelligible  and  decent.  So  much  as  to  the  in- 
struction in  morals,  now  a  word  on  the  doctrine  of  rights. 

Impart,  even  to  the  child,  the  notion  of  the  right  of 
property,  and  that  of  liberty.  Of  duties  of  right,  it 


180  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

should  learn:  "Fulfill  what  you  have  promised;  steal 
nothing,  let  everyone  have  his  own ;  don't  damage  the 
property  of  others."  Perhaps  you  will  find  William  able 
enough  to  comprehend  also  the  ideas  of  fatherland, 
State,  citizen,  etc.  The  perceptions  of  robbery,  murder, 
and,  in  general,  of  real  crimes,  are  no  objects  of  knowl- 
edge for  children.  Let  us  beware  against  making  chil- 
dren acquainted  with  things  which  even  adult  people  had 
better  never  have  learned  to  know. 


ILLUSTRATION. 

BENEVOLENCE  TOWARDS  ENEMIES. 

[Mother,  her  son  Henry,  and  Conrade,  his  playmate!] 
Mother.  "  Henry,  to-day  you  gave  some  of  your  cher- 
ries to  William ;  why  did  you  not  give  some  to  Conrade?" 
Henry.  "  Because  I  am  angry  with  him." 
M.  "  It  is  too  bad,  in  any  case,  to  be  angry.     My  son 
ought  to  be  good,  not   bad.     But   why   are  you  angry 
with  your  playmate  ?" 

//.  "  He  beat  me,  yesterday,  though  I  did  not  offend 
him." 

M.  "  Softly,  softly,  my  child !  Did  I  not  hear  you  call 
him,  first,  a  sneering  nickname?  Only  after  that  you 
both  fell  out  in  a  dispute  which  ended  with  strokes.  S  r, 
that  is  the  usual  way  it  occurs.  If  differences  arise,  in 
most  cases  both  parties  are  in  fault.  Tit  for  tat.  iS<> 
matter,  you  did  not  act  gently  as  you  gave  him  a  cold 
refusal.  1  saw  a  tear  in  his  eye  ;  your  hardness  grieved 
him.  Still,  he  asked  you  so  kindly  to  give  him.  What 
harm  would  it  have  been  to  give  a  few  cherries  to  a  for- 
merly dear  and  beloved  playfellow?  If  you  had  kindly 
spoken  to  him, "  There,  Conrade,  take  this,  I  will  requite  you 


MORAL  CULTURE.  181 


good  for  bad  " — I  bet  such  words  would  have  delighted 
the  boy.  He  would  have  regretted  his  wrong,  and  you 
both  would  be  again  good  friends.  What  will  you 
then  do?  Continue  to  hate  Conrade?  No,  you  must 
pardon  him,  and  reconcile  with  him.  In  any  other 
way  you  do  not  deserve  my  love.  Remember  the  noble- 
hearted  man  who  withdrew  his  mortal  enemy  from  a 
precipice,  on  the  brink  of  which  he  was  sleeping,  and 
saved  his  life.  Will  you  be  less  generous  ?  Look,  there 
Conrade  goes ;  shall  I  call  him  ? — Conrade !  hark !  Henry 
wishes  to  speak  a  good  word  to  you." 
[Conrade  comesJ] 

H.  "  Are  you  still  angry  with  me  because  I  did  not  give 
you  cherries.  Here,  take  half  of  this  cake,  and  be  again 
kind  to  me." 

Conrade.  "  You  shame  me,  my  dear,  good  Henry.  I 
struck  you,  and  you  share  your  cake  with  me.  Oh,  par- 
don!  I  shall  no  more  offend  you  with  a  word." 

M.  "  That's  right,  boys.  Now,  to  assure  your  recon- 
cilement, shake  friendly  hands.  It  will  afford  you  bless- 
ing, for  every  good  action  bears  within  the  good  conse- 
quences." 


SIXTEENTH  LETTER. 

CONTINUATION. 

If  the  children  grow  up,  and  the  energy  of  their  mind 
is  increasing,  we  should  also  enlarge  the  limits  of  moral 
instruction.  The  following  remarks  may  be  of  some  use 
to  you : — 

True,  reason  'is  a  force  innate  to  the  human  mind, 
the  lack  of  which  no  art  of  educating  can  supply  (and  it 
is  fortunate  that  it  is  so,  for  otherwise  the  stakes  of  In- 


182  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

quisition  and  the  guillotine  would  have  annihilated  it 
long  ago),  but  it  develops  first  by  education.  Instruction 
and  example  must  co-operate  to  this  end. 

Therefore  (1)  let  your  children  often  give  their  opinion 
on  their  own  and  on  others'  actions;  only  avoid,  in  the 
first  case,  the  illusion  of  self-love  which  likes  to  meddle 
with  our  judgment,  if  our  own  faults  are  in  question.  Let 
them  pass  sentence  in  cases  where  right  and  duty  are  at 
variance  with  the  welfare  of  the  acting  person,  and  where 
morality  is  hostile  to  mere  manners.  Where  your  own 
experience  is  not  sufficient,  have  recourse  to  history  and 
moral  narratives. 

(2)  Prevent  carefully  the  pernicious  influence  of  out- 
side sophistry.  In  many  books,  and  more  frequently  in 
real  -life,  vice  is  adorned,  virtue  ridiculed.  Daily  we 
palliate  faults,  admire  ambitious  actions,  idolize  the 
grandees  of  the  world,  praise  birth,  riches,  and  power 
like  virtues.  To  the  contrary,  noble  exploits  are  often 
mistaken,  sometimes  even  recompensed  with  prison  and 
death.  Must  I  remind  you  of  the  Wise  of  Athens,  the 
great  civilizer  of  youth,  Socrates?  How  were  his  efforts 
to  teach  virtue  appreciated  ?  He  had  to  drink  the  poi- 
soned cup!  How  many  teachers  of  modern  times  have 
experienced  a  similar,  although  less  cruel,  fate ;  e.  g.,  the 
writings  of  Rousseau  were,  in  his  own  country,  burned 
by  the  hangman,  and  where  his  monument  now  shines, 
years  ago  his  "  Emile."  this  code  of  education,  flamed  upon 
the  stake.  Not  less  the  ideas  of  right  are  attacked. 
Freedom  of  nations  is  in  our  age  a  fearful  word,  hated 
and  forbidden  like  treason  by  many  Governments.  Dear 
friend,  take  care  that  your  children,  as  they  grow  up, 
are  deaf  against  such  spurious  wisdom,  and  listen  to  the 


MORAL  CULTURE.  183 


sacred  voice  of  reason.  Proclaim  to  them  what  is  good, 
right,  and  honorable  with  high  enthusiasm.  Call  what 
is  bad  and  mean  by  its  true  name,  however  people  judge 
it. 

(3)  Chiefly  show  to  your  children  that  there  is  some- 
thing higher  than  food  and  earthly  dross.     "Life  is  not 
the  highest  good  of  man,  but  the  greatest  evil  is  guilt."* 
Let  them  recognize  the  ideas  of  reason  in  real  life,  and 
in  history  of  past  times,  with  irresistible  certainty;  too 
easily  they  are  in  life  ridiculed  away. 

(4)  Moral  proverbs   are   also  much   adapted  to  this 
purpose.     They  contain  practical  wisdom  in  short  sen- 
tences, and  usually  have  a  striking  force  to  prove  their 
truths.     But  some  are  suspicious,  or  really  false ;  against 
such  youth  mutt  be  cautioned,  e.  g.,  boys  are  boys;  tit 
for  tat ;  charity  begins  at  home ;  God  defends  the  right ; 
the  voice  of  the  people  is  the  voice  of  God,  etc.,  etc. 


ILLUSTRATION. 

WAB. 

[Mother  and  son.~\ 

Son.  "  What  men  are  passing  by?" 

Mother.  "  They  are  militia-men,  who  are  marching  to 
the  frontier  of  our  country." 

S.  "  But  why  are  they  armed  with  sword  and  rifle  ?  " 

M.  "  In  order  to  drive  back  bad  men,  if  they  should 
have  a  mind  to  enter  forcibly  into  our  country." 

S.  "  What  do  they  want  here? " 

.I/".  "  What  they  want  ?  They  will  rob  us  of  our  prop- 
erty, nay,  even  take  our  life." 

*Schiller. 


184  TIIE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

S.  "  The  wicked,  wicked  men !  What  harm  have  we 
done  to  them  V " 

M.  "  No  harm ;  their  king  demanded  of  us  to  expel 
one  of  our  fellow-citizens,  whom  he  hates.*  We  would 
not  comply  with  his  demand,  therefore  he  sends  his  troops 
to  compel  us  to  comply ;  that  is,  he  wages  war  against  us." 

S.  "  A  bad  king !  May  it  not  chance  that  the  father 
must  also  march  along ! " 

M.  "  Child,  in  the  utmost  necessity  all  able-bodied  men 
must  march  to  the  frontier,  and  fight  careless  of  life  and 
death." 

S.  "  Heaven  forbid ! " 

M.  "  We  hope  so ;  they  speak  already  of  speedy  peace. 
Meantime,  a  brave  warrior  is  resolved  to  give  his  life  for 
right  and  liberty.  But  your  guide  be  the  proverb,  '  Do 
right,  and  iear  nobody.'  'With  or  upon  the  shield,' 
a  Spartan  mother  said  to  her  son,  when  she  armed  him 
for  the  fight  with  the  enemies.  If  a  Spartan  fell  in  the 
battle,  you  know,  he  was  carried  upon  his  shield  out  of  it." 


SEVENTEENTH  LETTER. 

CONCLUSION. 

If  the  question  is  a  special  case  of  performance  of  a 
duty,  besides  those  rules  the  following  suggestions  should 
be  considered: — 

1.  In  order  to  induce  to  moral  actions,  three  moments 
must  precede:  The  annunciation  of  the  duty,  its  ackitv«-l- 

*Loui8  Napoleon,  nephew  of  Napoleon  I.,  lived,  after  the  dethronement  of 
liis  uncle,  in  Switzerland,  where  lie  enjoyed  the  citizenship;  but  lie  excited 
an  insurrection  in  France  for  the  purpose  of  overthrowing  Kinjf  Louis  Phulppc. 
The  French  Government  demanded  his  expulsion  from  Switzerland,  and  as 
this  country  dil  not  comply  with  the  demand,  a  French  army  occupied  the 
frontier  of 'Switzerland,  which  also  sent  troops  there.  Louis  Napoleon  did 
not  longer  oppose,  but  left  the  country  of  his  own  accord,  aud  France  then 
withdrew  her  army. 


MORAL  CULTURE.  185 

edgment,  the  moral  resolution.  The  first  condition  comes 
from  the  educator,  the  last  from  the  pupil,  the  second 
from  both.  The  annunciation  of  the  duty  requires  its 
clear  and  true  discussion.  Motives  must  be  alleged  in 
order  to  make  the  obligation  evident.  They  are  drawn 
from  reason.  According  to  the  diversity  of  relations,  the 
consideration  of  the  consequences  of  the  action  can  be 
joined  to  the  motives.  The  arguments  of  reason  rest,  in 
general,  upon  the  beauty  and  dignity  of  virtue.  Ac- 
cordingly with  particular  circumstances,  they  are  drawn 
from  the  duty  of  universal  respect  and  love  towards  man- 
kind, of  love  towards  the  parents,  etc.,  etc. 

In  order  to  make  evident  to  the  pupil  his  obligation, 
usually  the  plain  statement  of  his  circumstances  suffices. 
The  acknowledgment  follows  immediately  after  the  dis- 
cernment is  obtained.  Hereby  you  must  break  up  his 
evasions,  doubts,  and  objections.  Usually,  sensuality  is 
the  counsel  with  whom  the  pupil  takes  refuge  if  a  de- 
mand of  reason  is  annoying.  Your  behavior  should 

then  be  serious  and  decided. 

^ 

Lastly,  the  moral  resolution  depends  upon  the  pupil 
himself,  and  nothing  in  the  world  can  compel  him  to  be 
willing  for  something  freely,  with  moral  inclination. 
Many  are  willing  because  they  must  it  be.  In  this  case 
the  moral  worth  of  the  action  is,  of  course,  undone.  All 
means  that  the  educator,  then,  possesses  are  remonstrances, 
which,  however,  seldom  miss  their  efficacy,  if  they  pro- 
ceed from  the  heart,  and  are  laid  to  heart  with  energy 
and  feeling.  For  the  rest,  the  power  of  will  is  aston- 
ishing, nay,  the  greatest  of  man.  Therefore,  it  is  one  of 
the  first  rules  of  education  to  accustom  the  children  to 
iron  firmness  of  willing.  That  they  also  are  capable  of 


186  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

it,  amongst  others,  the  Spartan  boys  prove,  some  of  whom, 
at  their  plays,  permitted  themselves  to  be  flogged  until 
they  dropped  dead,  without  even  uttering  a  word  of 
complaint. 

2.  In  order  to  urge  to  actions,  the  educator  must  still 
excite  animated  feelings.  Lively  feelings  of  what  is  to 
be  done  must  be  kindled  in  the  mind  of  the  pupil.  The 
respect  towards  duty  must  grow  heart-felt  and  strong. 
The  vileness  of  an  opposite  behavior  must  be  vividly 
painted,  and  the  sublimity  and  beauty  of  the  action  rep- 
resented with  glowing  colors.  Let  the  language  of  the 
tutor  be  vigorous,  animated,  and  earnest.  His  coun- 
tenance ought  to  express  his  satisfaction  with  virtue,  and 
his  detestation  of  sin.  Examples  must  be  given;  they 
assist  much  informing  moral  resolutions;  but  untruth 
and  exaggeration  must  be  avoided. 

Still  sometimes  all  exhortations  of  the  educator  are 
useless.  The  heart  of  the  child  remains  cold  or  irresolute ; 
not  only  so,  perhaps  it  perseveres  even  in  its  immoral 
intentions.  In  this  sad  case  at  least  the  external  action 
ought  to  be  enforced  or  hindered.  Mere  legality  must 
substitute  the  place  of  morality ;  but  let  what  ought  to 
be  done  be  done  quickly;  delay  is  mostly  dangerous. 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

HONESTY   IS  THE   BEST   POLICY. 

[Albert  and  Frederic,  two  youngsters^] 
Albert,  (stops  suddenly,  stoops,  and  takes  up  something 
from  the  ground)  "  Hey !  Look  here,  Fred,  what  I  found ! 
It  is  really  heavy." 

Frederic,  (looking  at  if)  "That's  a  package  with 
money ;  look,  here  it  is  written :  '  Containing  fifty  dol- 
lars.'" 


MORAL  CULTURE.  187 

Alb.  (jumping)  "  How  lucky !  There  are  twenty-five 
dollars  for  each  of  us.  Let  us  share  it  right  away." 
(Tries  to  take  the  package  from  his  hand.} 

Fred.  "  You  pretend  that  the  money  belongs  to  us." 

Alb.  (looking  with  surprise  to  him)  "Belongs  to 
us  ?  To  whom  else  does  it  belong  ?  " 

Fred.  "To  him  who  lost  it." 

Alb.  "  But  who  knows  who  it  is  ?  " 

Fred.  "  We  must  try  to  find  him  out." 

Alb.  "  How  shall  we  go  about  it  ?  " 

Fred.  f" Do  you  not  know  what  the  teacher  the  other 
day  told  us  ?  We  deposit  the  money  in  the  police-office ; 
it  will  then  be  published  that  the  money  has  been  found, 
and  lie  who  then  can  prove  that  he  lost  it,  recovers  it." 

Alb.  "And  if  nobody  presents  himself ?" 

Fred.  "  Not  till  then  are  we  permitted  to  keep  it." 

Alb.  "  I  tell  you,  Fred,  I  hope" nobody  will  apply  for  it." 

Fred.  "  That  isn't  probable ;  I  rather  believe  that  the 
inquiry  for  the  lost  will  prevent  our  information." 

Alb.  "  But  could  we  not " 

Fred.  "Well,  what?" 

Alb.  "  Keep  silence,  and  feign  to  have  found  nothing, 
for  nobody  has " 

Fred,  (interrupting  him)  "Thus  you  mean  that  we 
should  turn  thieves ;  for  such  ones  we  should  be,  if  we 
knowingly  and  purposely  kept  strange  property.  No, 
Albert,  if  you  are  such  a  mean  boy,  I  will  not  see  you 
any  more." 

Alb.  (frightened)  "Thieves?  No!  If  you  are  mean- 
ing that but,  nevertheless,  it's  very  disgusting.  I 

\va>  already  so  glad  of  it." 

Fred.  "  Let  us  be  glad  that  he  who  lost  the  money  will 


188  THE  EDUCATING^  MOTHER. 

recover  it.  Perhaps  it  was  a  poor  messenger,  who  is  now 
ill  the  greatest  fear,  and  consoled  only  by  the  ho]>e  that 
some  honest  man  has  found  it." 

Alb.  "  You  are  right,  Fred  !  My  thoughts  were  wander- 
ing in  a  bad  road  ;  it  must  not  happen  again  in  future." 
(He  gives  him  ///*  hawL) 

Fred.  "  My  father  always  says:  'Honesty  is  the  best 
policy,'  and  my  heart  tells  me  that  he  is  right." 

TELEMACHUS.* 

Telemachus,  son  of  Ulysses,  when  fifteen  years  old,  was 
searching  his  father,  Avho,  on  his  return  from  Troja,  went 
during  ten  years  astray.  His  governor  was  the  goddess  Mi- 
nerva, in  the  form  of  an  old  man,  called  Mentor.  By  tem- 
pests they  were  driven  to  the  island  Ogcechec  (now  Gozo), 
near  Malta,  which  the  goddess  Calypso  owned.  She  fell 
in  love  with  the  young  man.  But  he  was  enamored  by 
a  young  ny:;iph,  Eucharis,  and,  notwithstanding  the  en- 
treaties of  Mentor,  would  not  give  up  her  company. 
Mentor,  then,  precipitated  him  into  the  sea,  and  a  ship 
received  them  both. 

Mentor  had  noticed  that  Calypso  loved  Telemachus 
passionately,  and  that  he  loved  not  less  the  young  nymph 
Eucharis,  who  used  a  thousand  artifices  to  retain  him  in 
her  snares.  Calypso  became  jealous  of  her,  and  ordered 
Mentor  to  build  a  ship  in  which  he  and  his  pupil  should 
depart  from  the  island.  Mentor  did  so;  but  Eucharis 
would  not  give  up  her  captive.  She  taunted  Telemachus  : 
"  What  pity  for  you,"  said  she,  "to  live  under  the  con- 
trol of  such  a  rude  master  !  Nothing  can  soften  his  rigor, 


*"T<Sl<Smaque,"  liv.  7  6me,  by  F&ielon. 


MORAL  CULTURE.  189 

he  hates  every  pleasure,  and  does  not  wish  you  to  enjoy 
anyone.  It  was  all  right  to  be  ruled  by  him  when  you 
could  not  conduct  yourself,  but  after  having  shown  so 
much  wisdom,  you  must  not  consent  longer  to  be  treated 
like  a  child."  These  words  pierced  the  heart  of  Telc- 
machus ;  he  did  not  know  what  to  do ;  at  last  he  ex- 
claimed: "O  my  true  father!  deliver  me  of  so  many 
evils ! "  Mentor  embraced  and  encouraged  him,  saying : 
"  Recall  all  your  courage !  Why  do  we  hesitate  to  leave 
this  island  where  virtue  cannot  abide  ?  "  He  seized  his 
hand,  and  dragged  him  away  towards  the  shore.  Tele- 
machus  followed,  whether  he  would  or  not,  always  look- 
ing back.  He  saw  Eucharis,  who  withdrew  from  him. 
As  he  could  no  longer  see  her  face,  he  looked  at  her  fine 
black  tresses,  her  floating  robe,  and  her  majestic  gait. 
Even  as  he  lost  her  view,  he  listened  still  to  her  voice. 
Finally  he  said :  "  I  am  resolved  to  follow  you,  but  I  did 
not  bid  farewell  to  Eucharis.  Stop  only  till  I  have  said 
her  the  last  adieu.  There  is  no  more  love  in  my  heart, 
I  feel  nothing  but  friendship  and  gratitude  towards  her." 
"  OH,  how  do  I  pity  you,"  replied  Mentor,  "  you  are  like 
the  man  who,  delirious  from  fever,  cries:  '  I  am  not  sick.' 
()  blind  Telemachus!  You  are  prepared  to  renounce  your 
iiiollicr,  Penelope,  who  expects  you,  your  father,  whom 
you  will  sec,  Ithaca,  where  you  shall  govern,  and  glory; 
you  would  renounce  all  these  goods  to  live  dishonorably 
with  Eucharis.  Fly,  Telemachus,  fly!  your  foolish  love 
can  be  vanquished  only  by  flight.  If  wisdom  in  you  over, 
comes  love,  I  live,  and  live  happy ;  but  if  love  drags  you 
away  in  spite  of  wisdom,  Mentor  can  live  no  longer." 

Whikt  Mentor  was  speaking  thus,  he  continued  his 
way  to  the  sen,  and  Telenuichns  let  himself  be  led  with- 


190  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

out  resistance.  At  last  they  arrived  at  a  place  where  the 
shore  was  steep,  beaten  by  the  foaming  billows.  They 
look  for  the  ship  Mentor  had  built,  but,  oh  horror !  they 
see  it  in  flames;  the  nymphs  of  Calypso  had  set  it  on 
fire.  Telemachus  cried:  "See  me,  then,  re-engaged  in 
my  bonds;  there  is  no  more  hope  to  leave  this  island." 

Mentor  saw  well  that  Telemachu.s  would  fall  again 
into  his  former  weakness,  and  that  there  was  not  a  mo- 
ment to  be  lost.  He  perceived  from  far,  in  the  midst  of 
the  waves,  a  ship  being  at  a  stand,  not  venturing  to  aj>- 
proach  the  shore  because  all  pilots  knew  that  the  island 
of  Calypso  was  inaccessible  to  all  mortals.  At  once  the 
wise  Mentor  pushes  Telemachus,  who  was  seated  on  the 
verge  of  the  rock,  precipitates  him  into  the  sea,  and 
throws  himself  into  it  at  the  same  time.  Telemachus, 
stunned  by  this  sudden  fall,  drank  the  salt  water,  and 
became  the  sport  of  the  waves ;  but,  recovering  his  senses, 
and  seeing  Mentor,  who  tendered  him  the  hand,  to  help 
him  to  swim,  he  strove  only  to  withdraw  from  the  fatal 
island.  They  reached  the  ship.  Telemachus  felt  his 
courage  and  love  of  virtue  revive  with  joy.  "OTny 
father,"  he  exclaimed,  "  how  much  do  I  owe  to  you  for 
having  given  me  your  assistance !  I  fear  no  more,  neither 
the  ocean,  nor  the  tempests,  but  only  my  passions." 


EIGHTEENTH  LETTER. 

THE   EXAMPLE    OF    THE    PARENTS,    BROTHERS    AND    SISTERS,   AND 
COMPANIONS   OF   YOUTH. 

Words  induce,  examples  impel.  My  younger  friend, 
we  have  now  arrived  at  the  great  commandment  of 
moral  education :  "  Set  your  children  moral  examples." 
If  the  child  of  many  a  day-laborer  makes  the  heart  of  a 


MORAL  CULTURE.  191 

prince  ashamed,  find  the  reason  of  it  in  the  power  of  the 
educating  example.  Good  parents  can  sometimes  bring 
up  bad  children,  but  bad  ones  never  good  ones.  I  think 
it,  therefore,  to  be  the  greatest  fortune  of  a  child  to  have 
honest  parents;  neither  ancestors,  nor  riches,  nor  in- 
tellectual refinement  of  the  parents  outweigh  this  ad- 
vantage. Preach  to  your  children  the  most  sublime 
morality ;  but  if  your  actions  contradict  your  words,  they 
will  fruitless  pass  away.  The  most  important  maxim  of 
education,  which  ought  to  be  repeated  on  every  page  of 
j>edagogic  works,  is,  therefore,  "parents,  first  practice 
virtue  yourselves,  if  you  wish  that  your  children  become 
virtuous."  Especially  to  our  hands  is  the  moral  fate  of 
the  children  committed,  for  we  are  most  time  with  them. 
While  professional  business  keeps  the  father  far  from 
them,  we  have  an  opportunity  to  observe  them.  We 
have  to  manage  their  education  in  the  first  years  almost 
alone,  but  in  this  epoch  the  foundation  of  moral  culture 
is  laid.  For  this  reason  it  is  the  first  duty  of  a  mother 
that  she  practice  virtue  herself.  She  who  will  not  do  so, 
shall,  at  least,  avoid  the  appearance  of  scandal,  hide  the 
sight  of  her  own  trespasses  from  the  eyes  of  her  children, 
in  order  to  not  destroy  their  innocence.  Far,  very  far, 
human  baseness  sometimes  passes.  There  were  fathers 
(history  mentions  among  them  first  the  pious  Lot — Gen. 
19 :  30-38)  who  abused  their  own  daughters  to  satisfy 
their  bestial  lust.  Mothers  were  known  who  sold  their 
daughters  to  voluptuous  roue's.  But  there  are  no  more 
Mich  parents  nowadays!  My  dear  friend,  I  repeat  it, 
let  it  be  our  first  care  to  set  the  children  a  good  example. 
Next  to  our  example,  nothing  influences  the  morality 
of  children  so  much  as  that  of  brothers  and  sisters,  play- 


192  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

mates,  early  friends,  and,  in  general,  of  children  of  the 
same  age.  Only  in  the  company  of  their  equals  chil- 
dren learn  candor,  compatibility,  and  sympathy.  But 
they  catch  also  many  bad  qualities  in  this  society. 
Here,  also,  appears  the  want  of  Kindergartens,  in  •which 
the  moral  behavior  of  children  can  be  exactly  watched 
and  adjusted ;  as  long  as  these  institutes  do  not  become 
more,  numerous,  the  innocence  of  many  a  child  will  still 
be  wrecked  upon  the  cliffs  of  seduction.  The  school 
proper,  too,  if  not  strictly  controlled,  easily  degenerates 
into  an  establishment  of  moral  corruption.  Many  scholars 
here  received  the  first  instruction  in  a  certain  secret  vice. 
This  was  also  the  case  in  seminaries  and  boarding-schools, 
where  even  the  unnatural  separation  of  the  sexes  brings 
on  a  hundred  moral  dangers.  Therefore  J.  P.  Kichter 
says:  "Mingle  the  sexes,  in  order  to  annul  them.  To 
the  contrary,  a  school  for  girls  or  boys  alone,  I  answer 
for  nothing!"  A  Catholic  priest  to  whom,  in  a  military 
academy,  the  pupils  confessed  their  sins,  told  to  my  hus- 
band that  most  of  two  hundred  boys  and  young  men  of 
the  institute  accused  themselves  of  lewdncss!  And  a 
young  countess,  who,  when  she  was  a  child,  was  educated 
in  a  seminary  to  which  only  daughters  of  patrician  fami- 
lies were  admitted,  confessed  in  later  time  to  her  governess 
that  the  girls  of  that  institute  also  practiced  the  vice  of 
self-pollution.  It  is  a  frequent  defect  of  schools  and 
private  institutes  that  the  teachers  and  educators  are  not 
married,  perhaps  are  not  even  permitted  to  get  married, 
as  is  the  case  in  convents  and  monasteries  with  nuns  and 
monks. 

It  is  also  a  sad  truth  that  nurses,  maid-servants,  and 
family  friends  exercise  n  great  influence  in  the  moral 


MORAL  fYi/rriM-:.  193 


training  of  children.  This  influence  always  shoyld  be 
considered.  What  directive  rules  result  from  these  ob- 
servations for  the  educating  mother?  • 

Select  the  young  companions  and  playmates  of  your 
children  carefully  ;  don't  admit  rough  or  really  immoral 
ones  ;  forbid  and  check  therr  intercourse  with  them  rigor- 
ously. But  do  not  deprive  them  of  all  intercourse  with 
children.  To  the  contrary,  children  ought  to  be  often  in 
company  together.  Extertor  refinement  of  the  playmates 
is  thereby  of  less  importance. 

A  blessing  is  the  influence  which  well-educated  older 
brothers  and  sisters  exert  on-  younger  ones.  Educate, 
therefore,  Emma,  your  first-born  daughter,  with  unre- 
mitting care,  and  you  will  make  your  calling  much  easier. 
With  joyful  emotion  I  remember  here  my  oldest  child, 
Jvosa,  who  many,  times  was  the  protecting  genius  of  her 
younger  brothers. 

Avoid  pointing  frequently  to  other  children,  and  to 
compare  yours  with  them.  This  easily  causes  jealousy, 
envy,  and  discord.  Extraordinary  examples,  too,  effect 
not  much;  they  only  excite  astonishment,  and  leave  the 
heart  cold.  At  all  events  you  must  direct  the  attention 
of  the  pupil  to  the  intentions  which  are  at  the  bottom 
Of  the  represented  examples;  if  the  child  does  not  know 
these,  it  will  be  a  chameleon  which  imitates  at  one  time 
good  actions,  at  another  bad  ones. 

If  you  send  your  sons  (concerning  daughters,  it  is  al- 
most never  advisable)  to  seminaries,  I  can  approve  such 
an  enterprise  but  with  great  restrictions.  It  must  not  be 
done  but  in  their  maturer  years,  when  the  moral  character 
hns  grown  rather  strong.  Their  absence  from  you  must 
not  last  many  years.  During  the  epoch  of  their  absence 


104  Tin:  Knrr.vTiNO  MOTHER. 


at  least  quarterly  testimonial^)  must  he  Driven  you  by  of- 
ficial report  of  the  progress  of  their  education.  The  in- 
stitute must  have  a  good  reputation,  and  be  well  known 
by  you ;  must  not  be  frequented  by  hundreds,  and,  finally, 
not  be  under  the  control  of  such  persons  as  are  forbidden 
to  get  married.  Where  these  conditions  are  carried  into 
effect,  the  distant  institution  can  supply  the  parental 
home  with  regard  to  mental  culture,  but  never  in  respect 
to  morality.  The  tender  plant  of  innocence  and  virtue 
nowhere  thrives  as  well  as  in  the  domestic  soil,  especially 
if  tended  and  cultivated  by  an  intelligent,  loving  mother. 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

THE  CRUEL  KILIAN. 

Kilian  was,  according  to  the  statement  of  the  whole 
community,  a  real  tyrant.  After  dinner  it  was  his  usual 
pastime  to  pull  up  the  dog  by  the  ears,  and  to  shake  him 
fiercely.  If  he  rode  on  horse-back  a  mile,  froth  would 
flow  from  the  mouth  of  his  horse,  audits  loins  bleed  from 
the  spurs.  He  used  .to  load  twice  as  much  as  others  on 
his  wagon.  His  wife  was  lame  in  consequence  of  ill-treat- 
ment he  inflicted  on  her.  If  he  chastised  his  children 
(which  often  happened)  he  cudgeled  them  cruelly. 

But  what  was  the  reason  that  he  became  so  inhuman? 
His  father  gave  him  the  bent  for  that.  When  he  was 
young  he  brought  to  him  the  nestlings  of  all  sparrows 
and  linnets.  The  little  Kilian  took  and  strip] >ed  them, 
cut  off  their  wings  and  legs,  and  would  die  with  laughing, 
if  they  weltered  in  their  blood.  If  the  father  wanted  to 
kill  a  pigeon,  he  first  distorted  her  wings,  and  gave  it  to 
Kilian  as  a  play  tiling.  So  it  was  no  wonder  that  the 
boy  became  a  tyrant. 


MORAL  CULTURE.  1<)."> 


LITTLE   ANDREW. 

If  the  little  Andrew  fell  or  stumbled,  he  cried  murder ; 
his  parents  came  in  haste  to  appease  him,  fetched  a  whip, 
beat  the  object  which  he  believed  to  be  the  cause  of  his 
pain,  and  cried:  "You  infamous  chair,  you  ugly  stone,  I 
will  teach  you  to  be  gentle;"  then  they  gave  him  the  lash 
in  order  to  whip  these  objects,  too ;  in  this  way  he  was 
calmed.  If  the  mother  would  wash  his  face,  he  behaved 
unmannerly ;  then  she  cried  :  "  Phylax,  the  base  dog,  was 
again  here,  and  soiled  your  face,  but  I  shall  reward  him." 
The  towel  was  hardly  put  aside  when  she  began  to  thrash 
the  dog.  The  maid-servant  had  to  feel  his  anger  because 
she  used  to  be  near  him ;  he  struck  and  scratched  her, 
etc.,  etc.  If  the  girl  became  angry,  and  cuffed  his  hands, 
he  set  up  a  wild  cry,  the  parents  scolded  her,  and  said : 
"  Beware  to  lay  hands  on  our  child.  You  see  that  he  is 
a  little  child.  He  will  not  have  torn  your  big,  rustic 
face."  And  the  girl  was  discharged. 

In  this  manner  Andy  was  brought  up.  As  he  grew 
older  he  sometimes  struck  his  parents. 


BEATRICE   CKNCI.* 

Beatrice  Cenci,  called  "the  beautiful  parricide,"  was 
the  daughter  of  Francesco  Cenci,  a  wealthy  Roman  no- 
bleman. He  treated  his  children  in  a  revolting  manner, 
and  was  even  accused  of  having. murdered  two  of  his 
sons.  The*  beauty  of  Beatrice  inspired  him  with  the 
horrible  and  incestuous  desire  to  possess  her  person. 
With  mingled  lust  and  hate  he  persecuted  her  from  day 
to  day,  until  circumstances  enabled  him  to  consummate 
his  brutality.  The  unfortunate  girl  besought  the  help  <>i' 

*  "  The  Cenci,"  a  tragedj  by  P.  B.  Shelley. 


100  THE  EDI-CATIN<;  MOTH  1:1;. 

her  relatives  and  of  Pope  ( 'lenient  VII.,  hut  did  not  re- 
ceive it;  whereupon,  in  company  with  her  step-mother, 
and  her  brother  Giacomo,  she  planned  and  executed  the 
murder  of  her  unnatural  parent.  The  crime  was  discov- 
ered, and  both  she  and  Giacomo  were  put  to  the  torture; 
the  brother  confessed,  but  Beatrice  persisted  in  the  decla- 
ration that  she  Avas  innocent.  All,  however,  were  con- 
demned and  put  to  death  (1599).  It  has  been  stated 
that  the  principal  reason  for  refusing  clemency  was  the 
avaricious  desire,  on  the  part  of  the  Pope,  to  confiscate 
and  possess  the  estate  of  the  murdered  man. 

PERSONS  OF  THE  SCENE. 

<  'omit  Francesco  Cenci.  Orsino,  a  prelate. 

Bernardo,  his  son.  Lucretia,  wife  of  Cenci. 

Cardinal  Castillo,  Beatrice,  his  daughter. 

Olimpio  and  Alarzio,  assassins. 

ACT   II,   SCENE    I. 

Cenci.  The  all-beholding  sun  yet  shines ;  I  hear 
A  busy  stir  of  men  about  the  streets ; 
I  see  the  bright  sky  through  the  window-pane. 
Come,  darkness!     Yet  what  is  the  day  to  me? 
And  wherefore  should  I  wish  for  night,  who  do 
A  deed  which  shall  confound  both  night  and  day? 
'Tis  she  shall  grope  through  a  bewildering  mist 
Of  horror;  if  there  be  a  sun  in  heaven, 
She  shall  not  dare  to  look  upon  its  beams 
Nor  feel  it-  warmth.     Let  her,  then,  wish  for  night. 
The  act  I  think  shall  soon  extinguish  all 
Forme;  I  bear  a  darker,  deadlier  gloom 
Than  the  earth's  shade,  or  interlunar  air, 
Or  constellations  quenched  in  murkiest  cloud, 
In  which  I  walk  secure  and  unbeheld 
Towards  my  purpose. — Would  that  it  were  done ! 

ACT    III.    SCKNE  I. 

[lAtcretia;  to  h<  r  rutrr*  7>Vr<//-//r,  she  enter*  daggering, 
and  speaks  wildly.'] 


MORAL  CULTURE.  197 

[hurt, 

Beatrice.  Reach  me  that  handkerchief!    My  brain  is 
My  eyes  are  full  of  blood ;  just  wipe  them  for  me — 
I  see  but  indistinctly. 

Lucretia.  My  sweet  child, 
You  have  no  wound  ;  'tis  only  a  cold  dew 
That  starts  from  your  dear  brow.     Alas!  alas! 
What  has  befallen? 

Beat.  How  comes  this  hair  undone ! 
Its  wandering  strings  must  be  what  blind  me  so, 
And  yet  I  tied  it  fast.     Oh,  horrible ! 
The  pavement  sinks  under  my  feet!  the  walls 
Spin  round ! — My  God ! 

The  beautiful  blue  heaven  is  flecked  with  blood ! 
The  sunshine  on  the  floor  is  black !  the  air 
Is  changed  to  vapors  such  as  the  dead  breathe 
In  charnel  pits! 
Oh  world !  oh  life !  oh  day !  oh  misery ! 

/,/"•.  What  ails  thee,my  poor  child?   She  answers  not. 

Beat.  I  thought  I  was  that  wretched  Beatrice 
Men  speak  of,  whom  her  father  sometimes  hales 
From  hall  to  hall  by  the  entangled  hair; 
At  others,  pens  up  naked  in  damp  cells 
Where  scaly  reptiles  crawl,  and  starves  her  there 
Till  she  will  eat  strange  flesh. 
Horrible   things  have  been  in  this  wild  world, 
But  never  fancy  imaged  such  a  deed — 

Luc.  Alas !  what  has  befallen  thee,  child  ? 
What  has  thy  father  done? 

Beat.  What  have  /done? 
Am  I  not  innocent?   Is  it  my  crime 
That  one  with  white  hair  and  imperious  brow, 
Who  tortured  me  from  my  forgotten  jsears 
As  parents  only  dare,  should  call  himself 
My  father,  yet  should  be — oh !  what  am  I  ? 

— If  I  try  to  speak 

I  shall  go  mad.     Ay,  something  must  be  done ; 
What,  yet  I  know  not — something  which  shall  make 


198  THE  EDT  <  AIIM;  MOTHER. 


The  thing  that  I  have  suffered  but  a  shadow 
In  the  dread  lightning  which  avenges  it ; 
Brief,  rapid,  irrevertible,  destroying 
The  consequence  of  what  it  cannot  cure. 

[Enter  Oraino.     She  approaches  him  solemnly."] 

Welcome,  friend ! 

I  have  to  tell  you  that,  since  last  we  met, 
I  have  endured  a  wrong  so  great  and  strange 
That  neither  life  nor  death  can  give  me  rest. 

Or*! no.  And  what  is  he  who  has  thus  injured  you? 

Beat.  The  man  they  call  my  father,  a  dread  name. 

Ors.  Accuse  him  of  the  deed,  and  let  the  law 

Avenge  thee. 

Seat.  Oh,  ice-hearted  counselor! 
Think  of  the  offender's  gold,  his  dreaded  hate, 
And  the  strange  horrors  of  the  accuser's  tale, 
Baffling  belief  and  overpowering  speech. 

Ors.  You  will  endure  it  then  ? 

Beat.  Endure!    Orsino, 
It  seems  your  counsel  is  small  profit. 

[Turns from  him  mid  xjiniks  ha/f  to  herself J\ 

Ay,  ' 
All  must  be  suddenly  resolved  and  done. 

ACT   IV,    SCENE   II. 

[Olimpio  and  Marzio    (assassins),    Lucretia,   Beatrice.] 

Olimpio.     How  feel  you  to  this  work? 

Marzio.  As  one  who  thinks 
A  thousand  crowns  excellent  market  price 
For  an  old  murderer's  life.     Your  cheeks  are  pale — 

[Enter  Beatrice  and  Lucretia.~\ 

Beat.  Are  ye  resolved? 
01.  Is  he  asleep? 

Mar.  Is  all  quiet? 

IMC.  I   mixed    an  opiate   with  his   drink;    he  sleeps 
soundly. 


MORAL  CULTURE.  199 

Beat.  But  ye  are  resolved? 

01.  We  are  resolved. 

Mar.  As  to  the  how  this  act 

Be  warranted,  it  rests  with  you. 

Seat  Well,  follow. 

[exeunt. 

SCENE  III. 

[Beatrice  and  LucretiaJ] 

Luc.  They  are  about  it  now. 

Beat.  Nay,  it^is  done. 

IMC.  I  have  not  heard  him  groan. 

Beat.  He  will  not  groan. 

Luc.  What  sound  is  that  ? 

Beat.  List!  'tis  the  tread  of  feet 

About  his  bed. 

Luc.  My  God ! 

If  he  be  now  a  cold,  stiff  corpse — 

Beat.  O  fear  not 

What  may  be  done,  but  what  is  left  undone ; 
The  act  seals  all. 

[Enter  Olimpio  and  Marzio.] 

.  Is  it  accomplished  ? 

OIL  He  is  dead ! 

Mar.     We   strangled   him,  that  there   might  be  no 

(•blood ; 

And  then  we  threw  his  heavy  corpse  i'  the  garden 
Under  the  balcony  ;  'twill  seem  it  fell. 

Beat,  (giving  them  a  bag  of  coin)  Here, 
Take  this  bag  of  gold,  and  hasten  to  your  homes. 

[exeunt  Olimpio  and  Marzio. 

ACT   V.,   SCENE   IV. 

[A  hall  of  the  prison.     Enter  Camilla  and  Bernardo] 

Camillo.  The  Pope  is  stern,  not  to  be  moved  or  bent. 
He  looked  as  calm  and  keen  as  is  the  engine 
Which  tortures  and  which  kills,  exempt  itself 


200  TFIK  EDI  -  AIINC  MOTFIKR. 

From  aught  that  it  inflicts;  a  marble  form, 

A  rite,  a  law,  a  custom,  not  a  man. 

He  frowned,  as  if  to  frown  had  been  the  trick 

Of  his  machinery,  on  the  advocates 

Presenting  the  defences,  which  he  tore 

And  tli row  behind,  muttering  with  hoarse,  harsh  voice, 

"  Which  among  ye  defended  their  old  father 

Killed  in  his  sleep?"     Then  to  another,  "Thou 

Dost  this  in  virtue  of  thy  place;  'tis  well." 

He  turned  to  me  then  looking  deprecation, 

And  said  these  three  words  coldly,  "They  must  die." 

Bernardo.  And  yet  you  left  him  not  ? 

('« in.  I  urged  him  still, 

Pleading,  as  I  could  guess,  the  devilish  wrong 
Which  prompted  your  unnatural  parent's  death, 
And  he  replied,  "  You  are  my  nephew, — 
You  come  to  ask  their  pardon.     Stay  a  moment; 
Here  is  their  sentence ;  never  see  me  more, 
Till  to  the  letter  it  be  all  fulfilled. 

Bern.   O  God,  not  so!     I  did  believe  indeed 
That  all  you  said  was  but  sad  preparation 
For  happy  news. 

[Enter  I/ucretia  and  Beatrice,  guarded.'] 

Beat.  I  hardly  dare  to  fear 

That  thou  bring'st  other  news  than  a  just  pardon. 

Cam.  May  God  in  Heaven  be  less  inexorable 
To  the  Pope's  prayers  than  he  has  been  to  mine ! 
Here  is  the  sentence  and  the  warrant. 

Beat,  (id {<!/!/)  Oh 

My  God!    Can  it  be  possible  I  have 
To  die  so  suddenly?  so  young  to  go 
I'nder  the  obscure,  cold,  rotting,  wormy  ground? 
To  be  nailed  down  into  a  narrow  place? 
To  see  no  more  sweet  sunshine?  hear  no  more 
Blithe  voice  of  living  thing?  muse  not  again 
Upon  familiar  thoughts? — sad,  yet  thus  lost — 
How  fearful !  to  be  nothing,  or  to  be — 
What?     Oh,  where  am  I?     Let  me  not  go  mad! 


MORAL  CULTURE.  201 

(Enter  guards.} 

Bern.  They  come !     Let  me 
Ki~-  those  \v:mn  lips  before  their  crimson  leaves — 
Are  blighted — white — cold.     Say  farewell,  before 
Death  chokes  that  gentle  voice !     Oh,  let  me  hear 
You  speak ! 

Beat.  Farewell,  my  tender  brother.     Think 
Of  our  sad  fate  with  gentleness,  as  now ; 
And  let  mild,  pitying  thoughts  lighten  for  thee 
Thy  sorrow's  load.     Err  not  in  harsh  despair, 
But  tears  and  patience.     Farewell,  farewell! 

Bern.  I  cannot  say  farewell!. 

Cam.  O  Lady  Beatrice ! 

Beat.  Give  yourself  no  unnecessary  pain, 
My  dear  Lord  Cardinal.     Here,  mother,  tie 
My  girdle  for  me,  and  bind  up  this  hair 
In  any  simple  knot ;  aye,  that  does  well. 
And  yours,  I  see,  is  coming  down.      How  often 
Have  we  done  this  for  one  another !  now 
\Ve  shall  not  do  it  any  more.     My  lord, 
We  are  quite  ready.     Well,  'tis  very  well. 


NINETEENTH  LETTER. 

READING — NARRATIONS,    HISTORY,    BIBLICAL    HISTORY,    FABLES, 
PLAYS,    ROMANCES. 

But  the  mother  should  not  only  orally  instruct,  and 
let  work  present  models  upon  the  resolution  of  the  pupil, 
neither  can  she  always  do  it;  writing*  must  her  often 
replace.  Therefore  she  wants  to  form  for  herself  a  sound 
judgment  concerning  their  selection  and  use.  But  I  will 
restrict  myself  to  the  narrative  kind  (in  the  widest  mean- 
ing); for  with  respect  to  writings  in  the  didactical  style 
a  mistake  is  less  to  be  feared.  Narrations  can  impress 
deeply  the  juvenile  mind.  Neither  do  they  preoccupy 
it  for  or  against  the  person  which  is  exhibited  as  a  model, 


202  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

But  a  careful  choice  must  be  made  among  the  most, 
especially  regarding  the  books  for  children.  Many  of 
them  foster  religious  and  political  superstition. 

What  opinion  must  I  give  here  upon  biblical  history^ 
in  general?  Without  mentioning  that  most  of  its  narra- 
tions are  of  small  historical  value,  they  are  the  expression 
of  the  religious  ideas  of  centuries  which  disappeared  long 
ago,  therefore  often  discordant  with  the  progress  of 
modern  culture.  The  Bible  itself  must  be  carefully  kept 
far  from  the  youth.  I  would  not  even  trust  my  daughter 
being  fifteen  years  old  to  read  it.  Neither  parents  nor 
teachers  consider  the  bad  consequences  which  the  biblical 
narrations  exert  at  home  and  in  the  schools  upon  the 
youth.  When  the  ministers  of  our  Canton  Avanted  t" 
introduce  them  into  the  common  schools,  the  teachers 
were  permitted  to  vote  on  the  question.  But  when  th-  y 
met  in  their  general  synod,  all,  with  the  exception  of 
my  husband,  gave  their  vote  in  the  affirmative,  and, 
consequently,  a  text-book  of  those  narratives  was  intro- 
duced into  the  schools. 

History  can  exert  a  very  beneficial  influence  upon 
moral  culture,  if  AVC  are  interested  in  it  not  for  dates  and 
names,  but  for  the  knowledge  of  noble  characters,  patri- 
otic exploits,  enterprises  conducive  to  the  public  good, 
etc.,  etc.  For  the  rest,  a  good  history -for  girls  belongs 
yet  to  the  desiderata  of  education. 

Fables  serve  better  to  teach  prudence  than  morals. 
Rousseau  rejects  them  for  the  use  of  children,  because 
they  are  mostly  Avritteu  for  adults.  To  the  best  fabulists 
belong  Lafontaine,  Florian,  Lessing,  Pfeffel,  and  Gellert. 

Concerning  plays,  many  of  them  shape  for  a  genteel 
behavior,  and  even  tor  morality.  Without  danger  can 


MORAL  CULTURE.  203 


be  recommended  to  the  riper  youth,  Schiller,  Goethe, 
Leasing,  and  especially  the  incomparable  Shakespeare. 
But  in  the  days  of  the  latter,  single  passages  remind  us 
of  the  somewhat  rude  taste  of  his  century. 

The  last  place  among  the  means  to  advance  morality 
occupies  justly  the  large  family  of  romance*,  for  most  of 
them  are  insipid,  excite  the  imagination  of  the  young 
reader  (this  is  also  partly  the  case  with  plays),  and  re- 
move him  into  a  fairy-land,  which  easily  disgusts  him  with 
real  life.  Novel  reading  is  truly  poisonous  to  young 
minds.  What  Villaume  says,  in  gome  passage,  with  re- 
spect to  the  body — "  I  should  like  better  to  see  blisters 
burn  my  child,  than  to  tickle  it" — that  I  should  like  to 
say  of  the  frequent  novel  reading;  this  is  moral  tickling 
of  the  mind.  But  when  will  youth  suffer  to  be  forbidden 
this  favorite  article  of  their  amusement?  Therefore  only 
take  care  of  a  good  choice,  and  that  not  too  much  time 
be  squandered  by  such  triflings.  Among  the  best  ro- 
mances I  number  the  historic  novels  of  Walter  Scott, 
the  "  Vicar  of  Wakefield,"  by  Goldsmith,  the  romances  of 
George  Eliot,  of  Susan  Wixon,  of  Elmina  SlenKer ;  the 
pictures  of  imagination  by  Wieland,  e.  g.,  "  Oberon ; " 
the  ingenious  novels  of  H.  Zschokke,  Rousseau's  la  nouvelle 
'•  Heloise,"  "  Don  Quixote  "  of  Cervantes,  and  the  "  Ara- 
bian Thousand  and  One  Nights." 


ILLUSTRATION. 

WHAT   I   LIKBD  TO  BEAD. 

When  eleven  years  old,  I  was  tutored  by  a  good  old 
lady,  of  a  very  honest  character,  who  took  care  of  my 
welfare  like  a  mother,  but  was,  at  the  same  time,  very 
bigoted,  and  especially  hated  the  Protestant  religion.  I 


204  Tin,  Ki»rr\TiN(i  MOTHER. 


was  longing  to  read  Campe's  "  Robinson  ( Ynsoe,"  writ- 
It  'ii  for  children,  and  in  vogue  among  youth  at  that 
time  i  1*1  •">  i,  l>nt,  unfortunately,  the  author  of  the  hook 
\\a>  a  Protestant,  and  my  mentor,  therefore,  would  never 
have  permitted  me  to  read  it.  F  had  no  other  chance 
to  satisfy  my  craving  but  outside  of  the  lodging.  There 
I  stood,  in  the  nook  of  a  window,  reading  in  a  hurry,  and 
always  fearing  to  be  surprised  and  deteeted  by  the  lady. 
When  some  years  older,  1  was  a  pupil  in  a  public  >em- 
inary  already  infected  with  the  proi>ensity  to  read  Prot- 
estant literature.  But  the  superintendent  of  the  insti- 
tute, being  a  strict  Catholic,  did  not  allow  the  pupils  to 
meddle  with  it.  He  once  surprised  me  reading 
Gellert's  "Moral  Lectures."  He  seized  the  book  and, 
in  spite  of  my  humble  remonstrances,  burned  it.  In 
the  vacation  we  were  permitted  to  go  home  and  live 
with  our  parents. 

Among  my  schoolmates^  there  were,  also,  children  of 
Protestants,  Jews,  and  Greeks.  We  did  not  care  for 
religious  differences,  "thoued"  each  other,  and  converged 
together* on  familiar  terms.  One  of  them,  the  sou  of  a 
rich  Jewish  banker,  lent  me,  then,  for  the  vacation-time, 
the  best  (iennan  classics.  Among  the  borrowed  books 
was  also  Lessing's  "Nathan  the  Wise."  The  poem  made 
an  inexpressible  impression  on  my  mind.  I  read  it  over 
again  and  again,  and  the  high  principles  of  toleration, 
and  the  hate  of  superstition,  were  impressed  upon  it  with 
indelible  characters.  Again,  some  years  older,  I  got  ac- 
quainted with  Schiller's  dramas  At  day-time  I  must  go 
to  the  college,  but  in  the  night,  when  my  fellow-students 
were  asleep,  and  1  was  not  guarded  by  my  ovei>eer>, 
I  read  and  devoured  his  great  works;  "The  Robbers," 


MORAL  Ori/i-rui:.  205 


the  "  Conspiracy  of  Fiesko,"  "  Cabals  and  Love,"  "  Don 
Carlos,"  and  "  Wilhelm  Tell."  Midnight  found  me  some- 
times perusing  the  great  poet,  "  Nitimur  in  vetitum  cup- 
imlsqne  negata."  (We  are  bent  upon  forbidden  objects, 
and  desire  that  which  is  denied.)  If  I  hate  fanaticism, 
superstition,  and  tyranny;  if  I  profess  liberal  religious 
and  political  principles,  I  am  indebted  for  this  bent  of 
my  character  to  reading  in  my  youth. 


TWENTIETH  LETTER. 

CONSEQUENCES   OF   ACTIONS. 

Besides  instruction  and  examples,  the  consequences  of 
ttftlmift  not  seldom  direct  our  resolutions.  The  conse- 
quences of  our  actions  are  in  part  necessary,  in  part  ac- 
cidental ones.  The  latter  are  partly  natural,  partly  ar- 
bitrary. I  concede  that  the  moral  merit  of  an  action 
loses  something  of  its  brightness  by  respect  to  its  conse- 
quences, still,  if,  also,  pure  motives  of  reason  are  used, 
the  combination  of  the  former  with  these  never  is  to  be 
hhuiH'd  ;  least  of  all  in  the  years  of  education  where  we 
have  not  yet  to  deal  with  morally  strong  men ;  rather 
what  could  hinder  our  employing  those  consequences 
alone  as  motives,  as  long  as  the  pupil  is  not  yet  fit  for 
pure  morality.  Our  child  ought  not  to  act  bv  reason  of 
the  consequences,  but  reference  to  them  will  at  least  pre- 
pare it  for  the  mere  sense  (if  virtue.  That  is  especially 
true  with  regard  to  the  necessary  consequences.  As 
necessary  consequences  of  good  actions  pass  satisfac- 
tion of  the  conscience,  increasing  accomplishment  in 
virtue,  approbation  of  honest  men,  in  particular  of  the 
parents. 

The  accidental  consequences  of  our  actions  are  of  less 


206  THE  EDUCATING  MOTIIKK. 

worth  in  education ;  watchfiilnees  is  necessary  in  their  use, 
in  order  not  to  train  hypocrites  and  egotists  instead  of 
moral  beings.  However,  inculcate  profoundly  this  sen- 
tence in  your  children's  minds:  "  Every  folly,  every  im- 
prudence, and,  still  more,  every  immoral  action,  is  chastized 
by  iteelf.  Among  the  casual  consequences,  those  which 
are  more  probable,  nearer  imminent,  more  effieadotu, 
ought  to  be  rendered  more  prominent.  Glory  and  honor 
must  not  be  painted  too  alluring,  in  order  not  to  awake 
the  passion  of  ambition.  Still  less  should  sensual  enjoy- 
ments be  promised  to  children  for  every  good  action.  The 
stomach  of  man,  and  virtue — how  far  apart  are  these 
two  objects  from  each  other  ? 

With  regard  to  the  natural  consequences,  let  tin m 
rather  and  oftener  take  place  than  the  arbitrary  ones. 
Consequently,  let  the  industrious  child  earn  recreation ; 
the  sincere,  confidence;  the  liar,  distrust;  the  proud, 
shame.  The  insolent  is  punished  by  fasting,  the  refrac- 
tory by  compulsion.  The  insatiable  must  have  nothing 
at  all ;  let  thf  saving  manage  his  little  property  himself 
the  quarrelsome  be  banished  into  solitude.  Still,  be- 
sides the  natural  consequences,  sometimes,  also,  the  arbi- 
trary ones  mnst  be  employed.  Of  these  I  shall  speak  in 
my  next  letter. 

ILLUSTRATIONS. 

THE    YOUNG   SPENDTHBIFT. 

Rev.  W.  was  a  very  kind,  beneficent  gentleman.  He 
was  tutor  of  the  children  of  a  wealthy  patrician  family 
in  Vienna,-and  member  of  a  charitable  society  which  sup- 
ported poor  students.  H.  was  one  of  them.  Every 
week  he  had  to  write,  at  school,  a  Latin  composition, 


MOUAI,  CULTURE.  207 

aud  if  there  was  no  mistake  in  it,  the  abbe  gave  him  a 
dollar  to  encourage  him  in  his  studies,  and  a  kiss  on  the 
forehead.  This  gratification  helped  the  poor  student  to 
cover  a  part  of  the  expenses  of  his  board,  and  incited, 
also,  his  diligence  and  emulation.  But  one  time  he  went, 
on  a  vacation,  into  a  public  garden,  where  he  met  a 
school-fellow,  and  the  dollar  just  received  from  the  abbe 
was  freely  spent  for  their  amusement.  By  chance,  the 
teacher  of  H.  was  at  the  same  time  in  the  garden,  and 
witnessed  the  extravagance  of  the  boy.  The  delinquent 
was  examined ;  he  confessed  his  guilt,  and  got  a  sound 
thrashing.  The  chastisement  cured  his  prodigality  for- 
ever ;  in  future  he  saved  his  dollars  for  useful  expenses. 

PET   MORGAN.* 

Some  years  ago  I  owned  a  horse  with  which  I  under- 
took to  drive  to  a  neighboring  town,  over  the  hills,  in 
the  winter.  A  spot  of  hidden  ice  suddenly  tripped  her, 
and  for  a  time  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  get  up,  but,  by 
efforts  that  entirely  exhausted  me,  I  finally  got  her  on 
foot  again.  She  never  forgot  it.  My  approach  to  the 
stable  was  invariably  welcomed  by  cordial  neighs,  and, 
that  not  sufficing,  she  would  put  her  head  affectionately 
on  my  shoulder,  or  under  my  arm. 

On  one  occasion  my  pet,  Morgan,  called  me,  while  I 
was  fifty  rods  from  the  barn,  with  loud  and  persistent 
calls,  that  T  instantly  understood  to  mean  trouble.  Go- 
ing hastily  to  the  stable,  I  found  the  cows  had  broken 
down  a  door,  and  were  capable  of  doing  mischief.  As 
soon  as  I  approached,  the  horse  gave  a  satisfied  whinny, 
followed  by  a  long  sigh  of  relief,  and  went  to  eating  very 
quietly. 

•Globe-Demoerat,  St.  Louis. 


THE  KurcATixc  MOTHER. 


T  Wi:\  TY-I-'IIIST   LETTER. 

CONCLUSION,    RECOMPKNSKS    AND    IT.\ISITM!,NTS. 

The  arbitrary  consequences  of  actions  are  called  rec- 
ompenses and  punishments.  Both  lay  claim  either  to  the 
sense  of  honor,  or  to  the  sensitive  impulse,  and  the  edu- 
cation can  be  so  much  less  without  them  the  less  the  child 
is  yet  capable  of  pure  morality.  With  respect  to  rec- 
ompenses, permit  and  use  them  but  rarely,  but  that  which 
you  promit,  Arrant  it  also  religiously.  Let  your  approba- 
tion be  to  the  child  also  a  recompense,  even  the  sweet- 
est of  all.  Then,  even  small  matters  will  be  precious 
to  it.  Nay,  let  that  which  the  palate  delights  in 
be  also  an  object  of  your  recompenses  for  the  little  one-, 
and  be  not  afraid  to  support  herein  their  sensuality. 

Concerning  the  distribution  of  recompenses,  I  cannot 
recommend  enough  your  impartiality.  The  pets  and 
darlings  who  are  glutted  with  proofs  of  tenderness  an- 
seldom  grateful  for  them  to  their  parents  in  later  year.-. 

Now,  for  the  punishments.  They,  particularly  tin- 
corporal  punishments,  occur  by  far  too  often  in  the  de- 
partment of  education.  Salzmann  complains,  rightfully, 
of  the  sad  fate  of  a  class  of  men  who,  in  the  midst  of 
civilized  Europe,  are  sighing  under  the  yoke  of  slavery, 
ami  lie  paints  affectingly  the  rage  of  their  tyrants. 
You  will  hardly  guess  that  speaking  of  slaves  and  tyrants, 
he  means  the  children  and  their  parents.  J.  P.  Ricliter, 
wondering,  exclaims,  in  "Levana:  "  "  How  is  the  indiHJ-r- 
ence  to  be  explained  with  which  the  State  is  looking  at 
slow  infanticide,  at  the  criminal  tribunals  of  parents  and 
teachers?  The  striking  hands  of  the  parents  and  teach- 
ers are  yet  in  the  fever  of  the  grown-up  men  stretched 
out  after  the  raving  man."  In  fact,  how  many  parents 


MORAL  CULTURE.  209 


think  their  children  to  he  a  kind  of  property  but  one 
degree  higher  than  their  domestic  animals,  and  which 
must  submit  to  every  arbitrary  coercion !  But  does 
this  despotism  agree  with  the  equality  of  rights  which 
naturally  takes  place  between  parents  and  children?  Do 
such  parents  behave  with  love  ?  And  how  sad  are  the 
results  caused  by  tormenting  the  children !  Their  love 
and  confidence  are  forever  lost ;  malice,  defiance,  servile 
tendency  take  their  place ;  their  mind  is,  and  remains,  often, 
subdued,  incapable  to  recover  courage,  and  unbent  for 
any  gallant  enterprise  of  life.  Oh,  parents,  I  would  ex- 
claim, who  confers  upon  you  the  right  to  abuse  the  pledges 
of  your  love?  Is  not  your  rage  to  inflict  chastisements 
sometimes  even  in  fault  that  your  children  get  crippled, 
.-timtrd,  and  }>crish? 

Now  what  has  a  loving,  gentle  mother  to  do  with  re- 
.<rar<l  to  punishment?  In  the  first  place,  let  us  exactly 
distinguish  between  naturally  bad  consequences,  compul- 
sion, and  punishment.  We  should  let  the  first  ones  always 
take  place,  as  you  know  already  by  my  last  letter. 

Gontjuif.-'i'iii  (in  the  utmost  case  also  corporal  one)  seems 
to  me  applicable,  if  the  pupil  will  injure  the  rights  of 
others,  or  act  against  his  own  welfare,  or  not  fulfill  a 
duty,  and  neither  admonitions  nor  menaces  avail.  But 
it  most  commonly  takes  place  if  the  moment  urges  a 
deed  (ir  its  omission. 

Punishments  proper,  purposely  inflicted  by  the  educa- 
tor as  evil  consequences  of  bad  conduct,  admit  very 
different  kinds  and  degrees,  of  which  corporal  chastise- 
ment is,  in  general,  the  severest.  Two  questions  must 
here  principally  occupy  our  consideration :  When  and  how 
are  punishments  to  be  inflicted?  To  the  first  question 


210  THE  EDUCATING  MOTIIKI:. 

I  reply :  If  the  pupil  has  really  and  deliberately  com- 
mitted a  fault,  especially  if  it  is  to  be  feared  that  it  will 
be  related,  then  you  may  punish.  Besides  this,  pun- 
ishment seems  to  be  very  seldom  admissible.  This  prin- 
ciple is  frequently  transgressed.  Many  a  mother  pun- 
ishes her  children  because  they  do  not  like  rest,  or  refuse 
her  an  accommodation,  or  break  something  of  small 
value,  or  even  commit  a  fault  by  ignorance.  A  loving 
mother  will  sometimes  pardon  even  important  trespasses, 
if  they  are,  e.  y.,  consequences  of  the  age,  and  in  time 
disappear  of  their  own  accord.  I  proceed  to  the  second 
question  :  In  which  way  mmt  we.  j>ini!.--/i .' 

\.  The  pupil  must  recognize  his  fault,  and  understand 
the  justice  of  the  punishment  before  we  punish.  Let, 
therefore,  the  culprit  recollect  himself,  represent  to  him 
his  wrong,  then  apply  the  evil.  The  remark  of  J.  P. 
Richter  is  more  than  witty,  it  contains  truth.  ilesa\>: 
"  Parents  and  teachers  would  often  punish  more  justly,  if, 
after  every  transgression  of  a  child,  they  would  count  at 
least  twenty-four,  or  number  their  buttons  or  fingers." 
"  Only  with  verv  voung  children,"  the  same  continues, 
"  the  punishment  should  be  fastened  into  the  fault,  as  it 
were,  as  the  naturally  necessary  effect  into  the  cause." 

2.  Not  the  importance  of  the  damage,  Imt  the  degree  of 
^ the  malevolence  and  the  design  of  reform  ought  to  deter- 
mine the  measure  of  the  correction.      To  a    child    who 
loves  his  mother,  even  small  punishments  are  sensible. 

3.  If  you  have  convinced  yourself  that  a  eha-ti-ement 
is  absolutely  necessary,  then,  a<  a  rule,  neither  struggling, 
nor  beseeching,  nor  intercession  of  other  persons,  ought  to 
prevent  you  from  executing  the  judgment.     Punishments 
ought  to  pain !    "  Not  great,  but  inevitable  corrections  are 


MORAL  CULTURE.  211 

mighty  and  almighty,"  says  the  same  author.  I  know  well 
that,  with  regard  to  this  precept,  I  expect  you  to  do  some- 
thing which  to  you  and  to  our  sex,  generally,  is  almost  im- 
possible. We  mothers  would  fain  deduct  a  part  from  the 
determined  punishment,  or  remit  it  entirely  ;  a  weakness 
which  cannot  be  pardoned,  if  it  grows  into  a  custom. 
Wr  ought  not  even  to  endure  others  interfering  with  our 
office  of  chastisement. 

4.  Let  me  speak  of  the  way  to  treat  the  pupil  after  he 
is  punished.  Observe  then  the  impression  which  the 
correction  exerts  in  the  culprit,  and  treat  him  further 
according  to  it.  E.  g.,  if  his  fault  was  disobedience,  com- 
mand now  diligently,  and  the  whole  concern  will  soon 
.-iiccccd  again  smoothly.  Let  the  child  beg  pardon  only 
seldom.  Permit  me  to  let  speak  once  more  that  cele- 
brated voucher  in  my  place.  J.  P.  Richter  gives  us  moth- 
ers, regarding  the  last-mentioned  point,  the  following 
important  hint:  "  In  the  hour  after  the  punishment  you 
may  speak  much,  if  the  mildest  voice  is  borrowed  for  it, 
and  soften  the  pains  of  the  child  by  showing  your  sym- 
pathy with  him.  But  poisonous  is  every  after-winter  of 
after-wrath.  Mothers  easily  fall  into  this  after-punish- 
ment; for  women  and  authors  do  not  know  when  to 


So  much  regarding  punishments  in  general!  With 
respect  to  cm-jtitral  punishment)  I  could  approve  it  almost 
only  for  mischievous  violation  of  right,  and  for  rough 
disobedience  ;  and  let  it  be  at  the  most  executed  with  the 
rod  :  a  case  which,  if  the  education  is  good,  hardly  can 
occur.  Many  pedagogues,  c.  y.,  the  Englishman  Locke, 
reject  corporal  punishments  entirely. 

As  for  the  rest,  more  important  than  all  these  direc- 


212  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 


tious  is  the  precept :  Mothers,  educate  your  children  in 
such  a  manner  that  you  never  conic  in  the  case  to  In- 
obliged  to  punish  them ;  a  precept  which  supposes  that 
we  educate  our  children  in  general,  conscientiously,  but 
especially  that  we  always  carefully  superintend  them, 
vigorously  check  the  beginning  of  immorality,  and  let 
the  natural  consequences  of  bad  actions  take  place.  But 
in  any  case — I  repeat  it — punishments  must  seldom  be 
inflicted. 

I  conclude  finally  my  rather  long  epistle  treating  of 
the  chapter  of  punishments,  lest  you  think  it  to  be  a  ser- 
mon punishing  us  for  the  sins  which  we  commit  ourselves 
concerning  this  chapter. 


ILLUSTRA  TIONS. 

I.    THE   DISOBEDIENT    CHRISTINA. 

Christina  asked  her  mother  to  buy  a  canary  bird  for  her. 
Her  mother  said,  "You  shall  have  one,  if  you  will  always 
be  gentle,  diligent  and  obedient."  Christina  promised 
it.  One  day  when  she  came  home  from  school,  her 
mother  said  to  her:  "I  am  going  out  now  for  a  little 
while.  Here  upon  the  table  is  a  little,  new  box.  Do  not 
open  it  by  any  means.  Do  not  touch  it  either.  If  you 
obey  me,  I  will  give  you  great  joy  as  soon  as  I  shall 
ret  urn."  %  When  the  mother  was  scarcely  gone,  the 
pert  girl  had  the  little  box  already  in  her  hand.  "  It  is 
so  light,"  said  she,  "and  there  are  many  little  holes 
in  the  cover;  I  wonder  what  can  be  in  it."  She  thought 
that  the  mother  did  not  see  her,  and  opened  the 
little  box— and  see,  in  a  trice  a  wondrously  pretty  little 
yellow  canary  bird  skipped  out,  and  flew  about  in  the 
room.  Christina  would  catch  the  merrily  twittering 


Mop, AT,    CULTUBE.  213 


little  bird  quickly,  and  shut  it  up  again,  lest  the  mother 
observe  it.  As  she,  breathless  and  with  glowing  cheeks, 
chased  the  nimble  bird  in  vain  about  the  room,  the 
mother  entered  and  said :  "  You  pert,  disobedient  girl ! 
It  was  my  intention  to  make  you  a  present  of  the  nice 
little  bird,  still  I  would  first  try  you  to  see  if  you  deserved 
it.  But  now  I  shall  forthwith  return  it  to  the  bird-seller.' 

II.     PUNISH    YOUR-    CHILDREN,     IF  THEY     TELL    THE    TRUTH,     IN 
ORDER  TO   MAKE    THEM    LIARS. 

On  one  occasion  Fred  wanted  to  catch  a  fly,  and  when 
he  lifted  up  his  hand,  he  struck  at  his  father's  glass 
pitcher  so  that  it  fell  to  the  floor,  and  broke  into  many 
pieces.  The  poor  boy  was  almost  frightened  to  death. 
Meanwhile,  he  thought  it  might  be  the  best  way  to  go  to 
his  father,  and  confess  to  him  what  he  had  done.  He 
sought  him  wofully,  and  finally  found  him  in  the  garden. 
"Alas,  alas,  father,  be  not  angry  with  me.  I  wanted  to 
catch  a  fly,  and  touched  the  pitcher,  and" — "What,  the 
- 1  ass  pitcher?  Did  you  break  it?"  "Yes,  I  broke  it, 
dear  father,  but,  indeed,  I  have  not  done  it  on  purpose." 
"  Why,  you  wicked  boy !  stay,  I  will  make  you  touch  the 
pitcher  so  that  you  will  remember  it."  He  cut  a  rod 
from  a  willow,  and  struck — "Alas!  my  arm,  my  arm! 
alas  !  stop  father,  I  will  not  do  it  any  more  in  my  life ! " 
"  There,  mind  it,  I  will  make  you  break  the  pitcher ! " 
"Alas!  my  arm,  my  arm  !  " 

At  another  time  Fred  was  turning  over  the  leaves  of 
a-  picture-book.  Before  he  was  aware  of  it,  the  book 
glided  off;  he  would  catch  it — seized  a  leaf,  and,  whiff, 
the  leaf  went  in  twain.  Who  was  more  alarmed  than 
Frod  ?  He  shut  the  book,  and  put  it  again  in  the 
place  from  which  he  had  taken  it.  After  some  days  the 


214  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

lather  wanted  to  look  for  something  in  the  book,  and 
found  the  torn  leaf.  He  asked  Fred  immediately  if  he 
did  not  know  who  tore  the  leaf.  Fred  confessed  it,  hut 
at  the  same  time  explained  how  it  had  chanced,  and  be- 
sought the  lather  not  to  strike  him  on  that  account. 
But  all  this  availed  nothing ;  Fred  got  his  blows  again. 
As  he  saw  that  his  father  would  not,  by  any  means, 
hear  the  truth,  he  began  by  degrees  to  leave  off  from 
it.  If  he  afterwards  spoiled  something,  he  never  ac- 
knowledged it.  Sometimes  he  denied  it  entirely,  some- 
times he  put  the  blame  on  another.  As  he  Avas  very 
careless,  he  broke  glasses  at  one  time,  at  another,  cups; 
but  he  always  knew  how  to  extricate  himself  so  cleverly 
that  it  was  not  laid  to  his  charge.  Sometimes  he  said 
that  the  wind  had  pushed  open  the  windows,  and  cast 
down  the  glasses;  sometimes  that  the  cat  had  leaped  on 
the  table  and  broke  the  cups.  In  this  manner  Fred 
always  came  off  well.  If  he  told  lies,  all  his  hasty 
blunders  passed  unresented.  Did  he  speak  the  truth,  he 
got  a  whipping.  Was  he,  then,  to  be  blamed  if  he  con- 
tinued to  tell  lies  ? 


T  WENT  Y- SECOND  LETTER. 

•  IGNORANCE — JUVENILE    PL  A  VS. 

In  my  sixteenth  letter  I  introduced,  among  the  gen- 
eral Avays  of  moral  culture,  ignorance  and  juvenile  plays. 
There  were  pedagogues  who  said  that  the  substance  of 
education  consists  in  the  mere  prevention  of  immorality. 
Our  pupils  ought  certainly  to  avoid  that  which  is  bad; 
but  they  must  do  more;  they  ought  also  to  do  what  is 
</<><></.  Meanwhile  much  is  already  gained,  if  only  the 
lirst  is  obtained.  The  best  defense  against  immorality  is 


MORAL  CULTURE.  215 


ignorance  of  immoral  objects;  for  we  do  not  desire  things 
which  wo  do  not  know.  Therefore  are  all  means  which 
forward  moral  ignorance  .so  far  also  ways  of  education ; 
this  is  particularly  true  as  far  as  it  concerns  the  strict 
super iniendency  of  the  educator,  and  the  remoteness  of 
bad  examples  and  of  pernicious  subjects  of  reading.  A 
close  oversight  of  the  child  is  principally  to  be  recom- 
mended to  the  mother,  whose  vocation  makes  it  a  matter 
of  course  that  she  is  oftener  than  the  father  near  the 
children.  Immoral  examples  cause  the  greatest  mischief 
among  children.  Niemeyer  says,  therefore,  "  If  it  were 
possible  to  prevent  intercourse  with  wicked  people,  chil- 
dren would  stay  much  longer  uncorrupted,  and  morality 
would  gain  a  strength  which  could  not  be  easily  annihi- 
lated by  future  bad  impressions."  I  remind  you  of  that 
which,  concerning  examples,  and  also  reading,  I  have 
written  you  already  in  my  sixteenth  and  seventeenth 
letters,  and  recommend  you  again  to  always  have  an 
attentive  eye  as  well  upon  the  reading  matter  of  your 
children,  as  upon  their  commerce  with  others,  especially 
with  young  friends.  Meantime,  with  the  mere  ignorance 
of  the  pupil  the  whole  concern  is  by  far  not  yet  done. 
Man  generates  both  morality  and  vice  from  himself.  He 
who  remains  too  long  ignorant  in  regard  to  certain  sub- 
jects, can  atone  for  his  ignorance  with  the  loss  of  his  inno- 
cence, and  he  who  never  was  in  danger  of  falling  is  the 
first  to  fall  when  in  danger.  For  this  observation  the 
interesting  novel  of  Zschokke,  "  Auntie  Rosemary,  or  All 
Upside  Down,"  supplies  a  proof. 

That  also  plays  can  contribute  for  the  culture  of 
mind,  a  morose  moralist  would  not  grant,  of  course;  but 
you,  cheerful  friend,  who  are  at  the  same  time  a  great 


210  Tin:   KIHTATIV;  MOTIIJ.I:. 

friend  <>!'  cliildrcn,  understand  it  well,  also  without  a 
Lengthy  demonstration.  Look  only  at  the  children  who 
for  u  time  tiniu.se  themselves  innocently,  how  they  return 
with  new  strength  to  their  little  occupations.  The  child 
who  always  is  sitting  gloomy  and  morose  in  a  corner,  will 
never  attain  a  high  grade  of  morality.  J.  P.  Richter 
says,  therefore,  concerning  schools  of  play:  "If  one  of 
both,  play-school,  or  school  of  instruction,  h'rst  must  fall, 
the  first  ought  to  keep  its  ground,"  and  with  respect  to 
dance  and  song,  as  species  of  playing,  the  same  say- : 
"  Dancing  cannot  begin  too  soon.  Is  there  a  finer  object 
than  a  merrily  singing  child?"  Plays  effect  serenity, 
and  this  one  is  (according  to  the  same  author)  "  the 
ground  of  virtue."  Only  do  not  tolerate  playing  at 
cards.  Plays  in  the  free  air  are  preferable  to  those  in 
the  house,  especially  to  the  sedentary  ones. 


ILLUSTRATION. 

AUNTIE    ROSEMARY.* 

Miss  Susan  M.  lived  with  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Rosemary, 
who  was  her  guardian  and  educator.  When  eighteen 
years  old  she  was  invited  to  a  wedding  party.  The 
aunt  accompanied  her,  giving  her  full  directions  how  to 
behave  thereby,  especially  during  dancing  she  should  be 
very  cautious,  and  attach  no  credit  to  the  flatteries  of 
the  dancers.  The  whole  night  passed  in  dancing;  Susie 
overheated  herself;  they  gave  her  punch,  then  she  felt 
unwell.  A  dancer  led  her  into  a  remote,  solitary  room, 
unlaced  -her,  etc.  .  .  .  Meanwhile  a  tempest  was 
storming  in  the  sky,  with  thunder  and  lightning.  No- 
body missed  the  couple ;  not  till  after  an  hour  they  re- 

'From  Zschokke's  novels. 


MORAL,  CULTURE.  217 

turned.  After  a  few  months  the  girl  began  to  he  sickly ; 
qualms  and  toothache  made  their  appearance.  The 
aunt  guessed  this  and  that,  what  might  be  the  cause  of 
them ;  finally  the  physician  was  consulted ;  he  declared, 
"  Mi&s  Susan  is  going  with  child."  The  aunt  examined 
her:  " Have  you  no  lover  ?"  "No."  "No  intimate  in- 
tercourse with  men  ?  "  "  No."  "  Consequently  you  have 
at  the  nuptials  disordered  yourself  by  dancing."  "I 
presume  so.  I  have  told  you  already  that  I  turned 
giddy,  that  I  was  obliged  to  go  aside.  One  of  the  gen- 
tlemen with  whom  I  danced  accompanied  me  into  the 
next  room.15  And  she  explained  mysteriously  and  with 
sparing  words  what  pains  the  young  man  took  for  her. 
Aunt  Rosemary  went  on  inquiring;  suddenly  she  clasped 
her  hands,  exclaiming,  "  Wretched  child !  So  was  my 
warning  in  vain."  "  Oh,  auntie,  compose  yourself,  the 
misfortune  is  certainly  not  so  great! "  "  Oh,  unfortunate 
girl,  not  great ! "  She  spoke  of  disgrace,  of  driving  her 
away,  and  yet  she  could  not  conceal  to  herself  that  she 
was  herself  in  fault  for  the  whole  misfortune,  having  let 
Susie  grow  up  in  blind  ignorance.  The  poor  chijd  was 
seduced  without  knowing  her  seducer. 


T  WENT  Y-  THIRD  LETTER. 

THERAPEUTICS   OF   MORAL  FAILINGS — THE  VICE  OF  ONANTSM. 

After  having  pointed  out  to  you  the  principal  ways  of 
cultivating  the  mind,  in  general,  I  think  it  adapted  to 
your  purpose  to  speak  also  of  the  general  method  to  cure 
moral  failings.  Both  the  passions  and  the  faults  of  the 
mind  in  general  (though  the  period  of  education  is  usu- 
ally still  free  from  the  former)  are  accordingly  cured  by 
the  following  common  rules : — 


218  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

First,  we  must  be  sure  of  the  existence  of  a  failing:. 
Sometimes  such  an  one  .seems  to  be  what  is  only  a  pecul- 
iar quality  of  nature,  e.  g.,  some  mothers  punish  faults 
against  the  etiquette  like  immoral  actions!  Diligent  ob- 
servation of  the  pupil  is  recommended,  in  order  to  di- 
cover  the  disease  when  it  is  still  in  the  germ.  If  tin- 
defect  is  evident,  ask  yourself  if  it  is  necessary  to  heal  it. 
It  disappears  now  and  then  in  later  time  by  itself,  or  is 
connected  with  other  good  qualities  of  the  full-grown 
man,  c.  g.,  inconsiderate  frankness,  joined  to  noble-hearted 
veracity. 

If  you  agree  with  yourself  that  a  cure  ought  to  be 
undertaken,  set  immediately  to  work.  If  somewhere 
gross  immorality  in  children  appears,  to  be  sure  the  first 
germ  has  been  neglected.  Our  next  most  important 
task  is  to  discover  the  source  of  the  evil.  In  this  regard 
we  must  first  make  sure  of  the  respect  and  love  of  the 
pupil;  all  that  runs  counter  it,  c.  g.,  passionate  fervor, 
must  be  avoided.  We  must  engage  his  reflection,  hold 
forth  rational  motives  to  him,  and  in  this  manner  lead 
him  to  the  acknowledgment  of  his  error.  The  bad  con- 
sequences of  his  fault  must  be,  especially,  rendered 
prominent  in  order  to  drive  the  sting  of  repentance  into 
his  mind.  But  do  not  deprive  the  fallen  child  of  his 
self-confidence ;  on  the  contrary,  exalt  his  sunken  courage 
by  hope.  Finally,  afford  him  the  ways  and  means  of  his 
reform.  This  will  succeed  but  slowly,  principally  if 
he  be  a  habitual  sinner ;  which  mother  will,  then,  be 
wanting  patience  and  encouragement?  Gradual  direc- 
tion is  then  necessary,  e.  g.,  the  miser  is  first  induced  to 
enter  into  a  lucrative  speculation,  then  to  satisfy  his 
wants,  enjoy  little  comforts,  finally  to  deal  charitable  gifts 
to  the  poor. 


MORAL  frr/FURE.  219 


The  educator  must  sometimes,  in  spite  of  his  most  hon- 
est effort-,  find  that  the  child  does  not  easily  gi-ve  up  the 
had  sentiment.  In  this  situation  he  must  enforce  at  least 
the  exterior  good  behavior  by  menaces  and  punishments, 
and  prevent  the  immoral  action. 

The  persons  surrounding  the  pupil  are  not  permitted 
to  disturb  the  progress  of  the  healing ;  on  the  contrary, 
they  ought  to  promote  and  facilitate  it. 

Still  more  important  than  to  heal  defects  of  mind  let 
it  be  your  care  to  prevent  their  origin.  Blessed  the 
mother  who  is  able  to  preserve  the  innocence  of  her 
pledges  of  love  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave ! 

I  cannot  conclude  my  letter  without  directing  yet  your 
attention  to  a  secret  vice  of  the  youth  by  which  children, 
r-ji' •rially  older  ones,  sometimes  are  polluted;  I  mean 
the  vice  of  self-pollution  (masturbation).  It  is  also 
called  O/KIII i«>n,  from  Otian,  who  committed  it,  according 
to  the  Bible.  The  holy  Book  reports  of  him:  "And 
<  )nan  knew  that  the  seed  should  not  be  his,  and  it  came 
to  pass,  when  he  went  in  unto  his  brother's  wife,  that  he 
spilled  it  on  the  ground,  lest  that  he  should  give  seed  to 
his  brother."  Gen.  38  :  9.*  Dear  friend,  this  is  a  fearful 
fault,  in  my  opinion  (though  the  celebrated  Doctor  and 
Professor  Bockh  calls  it  nothing  but  a  juvenile  rudeness), 
for  it  enfeebles  the  body,  squandering  the  sap  which 
nature  wants  to  build  up  the  frame  of  the  young  genera- 
tion. At  the  same  time  it  unnerves  the  mind,  blunts, 
especially,  the  intellect  and  memory,  causes  apathy 
to  study,  and  sometimes  destroys  the  generative  power. 
It  is  almost  impossible  to  break  it  off  when  grown  to  a 


Tissot,  "Onaniam;"  Lalleuiand,  "  Spermatorrhoea;"  anJ  Huteland,  "Art 
of  Prolonging  Life." 


220  Tin.  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

strong  habit.  A  friend  of  mine  told  me  that  she  knew  ;i 
hoy  two  years  old  who  was  accustomed  to  this  vice.  He 
practiced  it  still  a  few  hour.-  before  he  died.  Girls  in- 
dulging it  suffer  in  later  time  from  gonorrhoea. 

Mothers  ought  to  bo  very  careful  to  know  with  what 
boys  their  sons  have  intercourse.  Even  at  school  chil- 
dren get  cognizance  and  learn  the  practice  of  the  vice. 
It-  presence  is  betrayed  by  spots  in  the  body  linen  of  the 
sinner,  by  dark  circles  around  the  eyes,  and  a  pale,  leaden- 
colored  face.  He  avoids  the  intercourse  with  females, 
and  likes  solitude.  His  eyes  do  not  meet  those  of  another 
with  confidence,  they. are  turned  away  hastily,  and  after 
wandering  about,  are  at  length  directed  to  the  ground. 
"There  is  good  reason  to  suspect  this  abuse  also  in  a 
child  who  remains  motionless  in  a  corner,  whilst  his  com- 
panions enjoy  their  noisy  sports."*  Other  symptoms  of 
the  evil,  when  advanced  to  the  higher  stages,  are  :  Loss 
of  sleep,  disorder  of  digestion,  want  of  appetite,  attacks  of 
vertigo,  noise  in  the  ears,  nocturnal  pollutions,  propensity 
to  suicide,  etc.,  etc.  This  unfortunate  passion  produces 
exactly  the  same  effects  in  the  female  sex  at  all  ages. 

In  order  to  secure  a  boy  against  the  vice,  parents  must 
watch  his  company,  and  the  nursery-maid,  too,  not  surfer 
him  to  stay  long  time  in  the  water-closet,  to  keep  his  hand 
in  the  breeches  pocket,  to  read  novels,  to  take  stimulating 
drinks,  to  sleep  longer  that  it  is  necessary  for  his  age,  to 
tarry  in  the  bed  when  awake,  to  stay  idle.  He  must 
be  occupied  in  a  useful  way,  and  have  daily  bodily  exer- 
cise (but  no  riding  on  horseback).  In  the  higher  stages 
of  the  evil  the  help  of  the  physician  is  necessary.  I  saw 

'Dr.  Lallemaiid. 


MORAL  CULTURE.-  221 

mothers  who  tickled   the  genitals  of  their  babies!     A 
shameful  play !  • 

Moreover,  if  the  son  is  infected  with  the  vice,  the  par- 
ents should  represent  to  him  that  he  debilitates  every 
faculty  of  his  mind,  especially  his  intellect  and  memory, 
and  destroys  his  physical  strength  and  generative  power. 
They  must  encourage  him  to  keep  company  with  honest 
young  ladies.  Sometimes  a  young  sinner  is  cured  by 
genuine  love,  when  he  is  induced  to  woo  an  honest  girl. 


ILLUSTRATION. 

THE   FASHIONABLE    YOUNG    LADY. 

The  mother  of  Miss  Caroline  Herbert  wanted  to  edu- 
cate her  daughter  for  the  elegant  world.  She  intro- 
duced her,  therefore,  into  refined  companies  to  learn  there 
fa-hionable  manners.  Caroline  appeared  first  with  a 
modest  mien,  and  in  a  plain  dress.  The  young  damsels  of 
fashion  put  their  heads  together,  and  jeered  ;  the  young 
gentlemen,  kissing  the  hands  of  all  the  stylish  girls, 
fla'ttered  them,  but  looked  with  contempt  upon  Caroline. 
She  was  vexed  by  such  a  slight,  and  asked  her  mother 
to  permit,  her  to  have  her  hair  curled  also,  to  \v;-.ir  laces. 
ribbons,  and  other  fineries,  like  the  other  girls.  The  ten- 
der mother  willingly  consented,  and  took  care  to  procure 
all  that  her  daughter  demanded.  The  next  time  Miss 
Caroline  appeared  in  a  different  shape.  Her  hea-.l-divs-i 
had  grown  an  inch  higher,  a  silk  dress  wave:!  around  her 
hips,  many  little  things  which  the  milliners  of  Paris  have 
invented  (and  I  do  not  know  how  to  name  because  I 
must  confess  that  I  never  learned  to  appreciate  them) 
glittered  around  her.  Now  she  stepi>ed  to  the  mirror. 
How  she  was  charmed !  Never  had  she  felt  womanly 


222  Tin:  Knrr.vrixc  MOTHER. 

dignity  more  than  now.  Persuaded  of  her  worthinos 
she  entered  a  company  and  was  noticed.  The  In  !!'•> 
praised  her  for  the  change  she  had  made,  and  found  it,  ex- 
cept in  some  trifles,  very  good.  The  young  men  directed 
their  eyes  upon  her,  kissed  her  hand,  approved  her  t:i<te 
in  selecting  her  attire.  Ay,  she  was  so  happy  that 
Doctor  W.,  who  showed  her  home,  called  her,  when  he 
took  leave,  his  goddess.  Mr.  B.,  counselor  of  the 
finances,  was  so  happy  to  get  possession  of  this  jewel  which 
a  score  of  young  gentlemen  had  courted.  During  seven 
days  his  marriage  was  so  blessed  that  it  could  have  been 
praised  as  a  model  of  successful  matrimony,  if  his  caprices 
had  }>ermitted  it.  But  he  demanded  that  his  wife  should 
conform  to  his  taste,  and  limit  her  activity  to  the  improve- 
ment of  the  household.  Caroline  thought :  "  What  a 
pedantic,  unfair  demand  is  this !  My  husband,  my  house 
ought  to  be  the  only  sphere  to  which  I  confine  myself! 
How  vulgar  would  this  be !  It  is  the  fashionable  world 
to  the  judgment  of  which  I  will  conform  myself."  She 
did  not  choose  her  apparel,  company,  and  way  of  living 
according  to  the  will  of  her  husband,  but  after  the  ta-te 
of  her  worshipers.  She  despised  the  love  of  her  hus- 
band, she  jeopardized  the  health  of  her  children,  she  sac- 
rificed her  own  health  and  tranquillity  of  mind  ;  she  left 
the  greater  part  of  her  property  to  the  creditors, — and 
all  that  in  order  to  please  the  fashionable  society  ! 

About  tin's  time  her  mother  died.  The  death  of  the 
old  lady  was  a  fortune  for  her,  for  she  was  the  first  cause 
of  the  extravagant  life  and  vanity  of  her  daughter.  Mrs. 
B.  was  now  poor,  and  her  husband  lost  his  appointment 
in  the  city.  They  were  obliged  to  retire  into  the  country. 
Here  Mr.  B.  must,  with  the  wreck  of  his  wealth,  carry  <>n 


MORAL  CULTURE.  223 


another  business  in  order  to  be  able  to  support  his  wife 
and  children.  Misfortune  awoke  the  slumbering  glimpses 
of  virtue  in  his  wife.  She  had  here  no  opportunity  to 
show  her  fashionable  arts.  Now  she  took  care  of  her 
children,  and  managed  her  household  herself.  Her  hus- 
band consoled  and  encouraged  her.  He  represented  to 
her  that  a  woman  who  adorns  her  form  with  the  finest 
apparel,  but  is  ignorant,  selfish,  quarrelsome,  eager  for 
pleasure,  cannot  be  happy.  "  Tell  me,"  he  said  to  her, 
"  suppose  that  such  a  woman  be  a  princess,  would  you 
not  despise  her  in  your  heart  ?  Do  you  not  like  better 
your  natural  complexion  than  the  artificial  color  of  the 
roil'/'- .'  If  we  ourselves  are  good  and  sensible,  if  we 
havi'  energy,  and  noble  minds,  then  all  the  rest  falls  to 
our  slum- ;  good  health  makes  us  beautiful,  people  accord 
us  their  respect  and  love,  and  fortune,  also,  will  smile 
again  upon  us."  She  yielded  to  the  advice  of  her  hus- 
band, attended  to  the  education  of  her  children,  and  to 
the  improvement  of  her  economy,  and  enjoyed  the  serene 
evening  of  her  life. 


SECOND  SECTION.— CULTIVATION  OF  SOME  SINGLE 
FEATURES  OF  CHARACTER. 


TWENTY-FOURTH  LETTER. 

CHEERFULNESS   OF    MINU — THOUGHTLESSNESS. 

MY  YOUNG  FRIEND:  Possibly  you  will  find  it  difficult 
to  apply  the  discussed  principles  of  moral  culture  to  the 
minds  of  your  children.  You  want,  still,  particular  in- 
formation for  single  cases.  Now  I  will  communicate  to 
you  the  application  of  the  general  principles  to  the  more 
prominent  sides  of  the  juvenile  mind,  considering  the  re- 


224  THE  EDIT  ATI  \<;  MOTHER. 


lations  of  the  pupil,  first  towards  himself,  then  towards 
others,  principally  towards  parents  and  tutors,  and  towards 
his  country.  The  love  of  sex,  too,  must  here  be  spoken 
of.  Rules  regarding  the  choice  of  a  vocation  will  con- 
clude the  whole.  In  order  to  complete  my  instruction, 
I  will  also  join  remedies  for  single  defects  of  character. 
May  it  never  happen  that  you  must  make  use  of  them. 

There  were  times  when  earth  was  called  a  vale  of 
tears.  Then  the  fate  of  youth  was  not  enviable.  Those 
times  have  passed,  in  part,  away.  A  milder  century  ha< 
dawned,  in  which  before  unknown  enjoyments  to  the 
young  generation  also  are  jH-rmitted  and  imparted. 
Grant  your  children  a  cheerful  and  serene  mind.  Take 
carr  of  the  good  health  of  their  body;  a  sickly  child  is 
not  susceptible  of  joy.  Far  be  all  coercion  to  sit  still : 
congratulate  yourself  if  your  children  arc  lively.  Phleg- 
matic recluses  may  once  be  good-natured  men,  but  you 
cannot  exjK'ct  grand  performances  of  them.  Faraway  be  a 
.surly  behavior  towards  children ;  far  the  intercourse  with 
capricious  ]>ersons ;  far  the  multitude  of  warnings,  of 
prohibitions,  of  menaces  and  punishments;  far  be,  finally, 
discontent,  complaints  of  fate  and  men.,  despairing  lam- 
entations in  hapless  situation.  Wieland*  calls  on  all 
hapless  ones:  "Nobody  shall  despair  to  whom,  in  the 
most  obscure  night,  the  la-4  stars  of  ho|>e  disappear."  A 
cheerful  youth  gives  way  to  the  gladdest  expectations  of 
our  country.  Play-  awake  and  nourish  cheerfulness ; 
this  has  already  been  considered.-}- 

Meantime,  thoughtlessness  must  not  be  confounded 
with  cheerfulness.  Though  the  latter  be  no  virtuous 

•  Wielaml  "  Oberon,"  Canto  the  first,  stanza  L'7. 
t3.*  fifth  and  ninth  letter. 


MORAL  CULTURE.  225 

quality,  it  is  a  source  of  virtue.  But  the  former  is  a  fault 
by  itself.  Thoughtlessness  renders  one  inattentive,  in- 
considerate, forgetful,  disorderly,  distracted,  impatient, 
fickle  in  study  and  working,  slovenly  in  dressing,  regard- 
less of  possession,  ill-behaved  in  company.  Thoughtless- 
ness is  checked  by  rapid  interference  with  its  doings. 
Admonitions  alone,  and  even  punishments  now  and  then 
inflicted,  avail  not ;  you  must  insist  upon  changing  what 
is  to  lie  changed,  biwnediateiy.  He  who  forgot  some- 
thing must  forthwith  set  out  again ;  who  mislaid  some- 
thing has  to  search  till  he  finds  it  again ;  who  did  a  work 
superficially  must  not  be  scolded,  but  obliged  to  do  it  over 
again  from  the  beginning,  even  if  he  must  forego  thereby 
the  most  charming  pleasure.  In  this  manner  the  light- 
minded  will  recollect  and  reform  himself. 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

A  PRECIOUS   COUPLE   OF   PARENTS. 

A  couple  of  parents  kept  their  heads  always  so  full  of 
business  and  enterprise-,  that  they  thought  every  moment 
lost  in  which  they  must  converse  with  they-  children. 
The  husband  was  figuring,  and  the  wife  was  always  busy 
with  her  finery.  The  suckling  stretched  out  his  little 
hand  to  chuck  the  face  of  the  father;  he  pushed  it 
frigidly  back.  Little  Nicolas  jumped  to  him  with  his 
primer,  saying,  "  Look,  papa,  the  jolly  little  monkey  has 
an  apple  in  his  paw."  "Let  me  alone,"  was  answered. 
He  ran  to  the  mother,  and  was  repulsed. 

Now  Nick  went  with  his  book  to  the  servant-girl,  and 
she  knew  how  to  use  him  better.  She  rejoiced  with  him 
in  the  little  monkey,  showed  him  the  wolf  and  the  little 

hare,  told   him   how  the  wolf  eats  the  sheep,  and  how 
15 


_'L>t;  Tin:  Ei>rc.\TiN-(i  MOTHER. 


roa.-ted  hare-  relish.  For  that  .-lit1  became  liis  dear 
Marv,  \vlio  learned  all  his  secret-,  ami  took  part  in  all 
hi:-  pleasures.  He  would  not  care  if  his  father  and 
mother  went  for  months  on  a  journey;  hut  if  the  servant- 
girl  was  not  at  home,  you  should  have  heard  his  crying. 

LITTLE    GtJSTAVUS. 

A  certain  man  had  the  joy  to  become  yet  a  father  in 
his  fiftieth  year.  On  account  of  his  age  he  was  grave 
and  serious  in  his  conduct,  and  demanded  that  his  lit- 
tle Gustavn-  should  U-liave  in  the  same  manner.  But 
he  did  not.  As  the  child  wa-  master  of  hi-  fe,-t,  he  felt 
hi-  strength  and  gaiety,  skipped,  joked,  and  looked 
for  playmate<  to  amuse  himself  with  them.  This  caii-ed 
the  father  much  vexation.  lie  took  (lustavus  some 
limes  along  with  him  when  he  took  a  walk  in  the  country. 
If  the  boy  ran  after  the  butterflies,  or  jumped  into  the 
meadow  in  order  to  look  for  flowers,  the  irritated  lather 
cried:  "Where  are  you  roving?  Will  you  come  here 
immediately?  Shame,  you  rude  rustic!  See  how  I  am 
walking;  can  you  not  do  the  same?"  He  burnt  the 
nine-pins  \yhich  Gnstavns  had  received  from,  his  cousin 
a--  a  present,  and  cut  the  ball  he  once  brought  home  to 
pieces,  saying  that  he  could  make  a  better  use  of  the 
lime  which  he  was  wasting  in  playing  with  it,  if  lie 
learned  a  chapter  from  the  catechism.  If  (he  boy-tayed 
with  him  in  his  room,  he  must  sit  still  for  hours,  without 
being  allowed  to  stir  from  his  place.  This  man  rendered 
himself,  by  such  treatment,  BO  o:lioii-  to  his  sou  that  he 
liked  better  to  stay  with  the  riide-t  lellows  than  with  his 
lather. 

When  the  fath'T  died  the  boy  shed    no  tear  of  mourn- 
ing.    "Good,"  he  was  thinking,  u  that    1   am   rid  of  this 


MORAL  Oi*i/rrr:i:.  227 


disgusting  superintendence.     At  least,  I  can  now  live  as 
I  please. 

TWENTY-FIFTH  LETTER. 

DILIGENCE,    LAZINESS — SOME  REMARKS  ON   TEACHERS   AND 
PUBLIC    SCHOOLS, 

Concerning  very  young  children,  the  virtue  of  dili- 
gence, of  course,  is  out  of  the  question ;  still,  they  ought 
not  to  be  idle.  Steady  occupation  is  the  principal  tusk 
•  if  education.  In  idle  hours,  an  apparatus  for  building 
retail  shops,  traveling  carriages,  a  collection  of  natural 
products,  work  in  pasteboard,  and  horticulture  aiv  fit  for 
older  children  ;  plays  for  younger  ones.  But  instruction 

are  good  for  nothing;  for  the  play  is  either  a  m 
,  or  the  child  soon   finds  out-the  earnest  which  lurks 
behind  the  play,  and  dislikes  it. 

Older  children  ought  to  havfe  their  day's  work,  as  do 
adults.  Then  allot  them  their  task  by  littles ;  watch  its 
|ii-« -TCSS,  encourage,  urge,  compel  the  negligent,  join 
praise  to  blame,  and  recompense  to  chastisement.  When 
tin-  work  is  done,  make  a  careful  and  impartial  exami- 
nation of  it.  Nothing  produces  moiv  harm  than  setting 
children  five  or  six  years  old  to  perform  a  ta.sk,  and 
not  caring  for  the  result.  There  ought  to  be  frequent 
change  of  occupation ;  now  exertion  of  the  mental,  now 
of  the  physical  forces;  now  domestic  work,  now  prepar- 
ing for  school;  now  executing  commissions  in  the  house, 
now  outside.  Let  there  be  no  want  of  recreation  at  this 
age.  Nor  should  we  overtask  the  brain  of  older  chil- 
dren with  mental  work.  I  have  seen  boys,  in  this  way, 
stunted  and  made  sick.  With  regard  to  voung  girls, 
remember  what  I  communicated  you  in  my  sixth  later. 


228  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 


When  the  period  of  the  school  years  commences,  tin- 
teacher,  for  the  most  part,  takes  the  charge  of  your  child's 
occupation;  your  concern  is  it  then  to  aid  honestly 
his  efforts,  by  bearing,  willingly,  the  expenses  necessary 
for  teaching  the  child;  by  getting  information  of  his 
progress  and  conduct  through  oral  reports,  or  through 
written  ones,  and  by  seeing  to  it  that  tke  home  tasks,  his 
themes  and  lessons,  are  exactly  written  and  learned. 
Mothers  are,  in  this  respect,  easily  deceived,  becan-e 
often  they  are  ignorant  of  the  object  of  lessons.  For 
that  reason  the  father  should  have  the  control  of  the 
home  study.  That  the  teacher  exerts  a  great  influene 
upon  the  welfare  of  your  children;  that,  therefore,  you 
should  select  him  cautiously,  if  the  choice  devolves  ui>on 
you ;  that  you  should  requite  his  efforts  according  to  his 
merit,  and,  in  general,  use  him  as  your  substitute  in  re- 
gard to  your  children;  this  I  need  hardly  remark  to  my 
sensible  friend. 

It  will  not  be  amiss  to  add  a  few  words  regarding  the 
branches  of  study  in  our  public  schools.  It  is  a  matter 
of  course  that  our  children  learn  reading,  writing,  arith- 
metic, grammar,  geography,  and  history,  but  they  ought. 
to  study  still  more.  You  know  that  in  our  elementary 
schools  they  learn,  beside-,  the  rudiments  of  natural 
history  and  natural  philosophy.  It  is  not  so  in  every 
country,  e.  </.,  in  France,  England,  America,  and  most  of 
the  German  States,  the  natural  sciences  in  these  schools 
are  missing.  Still,  what  a  pity  it  is  to  dismiss  a  child 
into  the  stern  reality  of  busy  life,  if  it  does  not  know  the 
laws  of  nature,  of  life,  health,  and  the  most  common 
objects  of  the  universe. 

A   doctrine   of  morals,   teaching  human   duties   and 


MORAL  CULTURE.  220 

rights,  should  be  another  branch  of  public  education. 
1 1  ought  to  be  founded  on  the  nature  of  human  mind. 
It  is  not  sufficient  to  cultivate  the  intellects  of  the  chil- 
dren ;  they  want,  also,  moral  education.  Justice  and 
honesty  of  the  citizens  are  the  foundations  of  the  States. 

It  is  another  question  if  religion,  too,  must  be  taught 
in  public  schools.  I  suppose  not;  for  in  every  State 
there  are  different  Christian  sects,  besides  Jews,  free 
religionists,  dissenters,  and  free-thinkers.  They,  being 
tax-payers  for  the  support  of  the  public  schools,  have 
also  the  right  to  teach  their  respective  views  in  the  public 
schools.  Which  of  these  religions  ought,  then,  to  be 
taught?  Either  all  or  none.  Batter  none,  as  it  is  the 
case  in  the  United  States,  where  religion  is  excluded 
from  the  common  schools,  because  the  people  living 
there  confess  many  different  religions;  many,  also,  none 
at  all. 

With  respect  to  private  studies,  periodical  examina- 
tions should  take  place.  For  the  instruction  of  grown- 
up daughters  it  is;  sometimes  advisable  that  the  mother 
be  present  herself  during  the  lessons.  The  governess  <>l 
a  young  countess  told  me  that  the  singing-master  of  her 
pupil  tried  to  seduce  her  during  his  lessons,  though  he 
was  married,  and  the  father  of  nine  children. 

As  the  individuality  of  the  child  is  modified,  incite,  if 
he  will  yield  to  laziness,  his  sense  of  honor,  or  the  impulse 
to  gain  property,  or  the  sense  of  the  beautiful  and  ele- 
gant. The  lazy  must  get  up  from  his  couch  of  rest  at 
any  effort.  Resolution  and  decision  in  commanding  must 
be  used.  Where  it  can,  let  the  natural  evil  consequences 
follow,  and  arbitrary  ones  enforce  their  effect.  But  here, 
alsd,  moderation  must  bo  observed.  The  fasting  cure, 


230  Tui:  EmvATfNc  MOTITKR. 

often  applied  in  accordance  with  the  |>rovrrl>,  "  lie  who 
docs  not  work  must  also  not  eat  cither,"  has  not  my 
assent.  I  would  advise  it  hut  rarely,  and  never  should 
the  health  of  the  child  he  injured  hy  it.  Deal  out  to  the 
la/.v  his  work  with  exactness,  and  control  its  progre>- 
most  strictly;  grant  him  the  whole  enjoyment  of  his 
small  gain.  This  and  similar  expedients  will  induce  him 
to  become  diligent. 

For  laziness  in  study  corporal  punishment  ought  to  l»e 
avoided.  The  scholar  is  not  always  in  fault  if  he  dots 
not  make  any  progress  in  sciences,  and  almost  never  he 
is  alone;  sometimes  it  is  the  fault  of  the  teacher,  some- 
times a  want  of  talent,  or  preparatory  instruction,  etc., 
etc.  It  is  seldom  that  parents  can  boast  of  having,  like 
the  old  painter  Mengs,  shaped  their  children  for  artists 
and  scholars  by  dint  of  the  dog-whip.  Therefore  soften 
the  harshness  of  the  father  where  it  occurs,  for  the  charge 
of  mildness  and  reconciliation  belongs  to  us. 

Voluptuousness  is  still  more  pernicious  to  earnest  study 
than  is  fear  ;  where  it  rules,  enervation  of  mind  follows  ; 
no  fruits  of  culture  are  to  be  expected;  so  long  as  the 
worm  of  sensuality  is  corroding  the  blossoms  of  mental 
power,  all  is  to  no  purpose;  the  brutish  passion  must  be 
first  extirpated.  Love,  on  the  contrary,  awoke  many 
a  young  man  from  his  mental  slumber,  and  incited  him 
to  overtake  and  surpass,  in  a  few  years,  his  school-fellows. 
The  educator  of  Geneva  was  with  this  power  of  love  well 
acquainted ;  his  Emile  must  first  love,  then  he  learned 
foreign  laiigiu;. 


MORAL  OtTi/rn;i;.  231 


ILLUSTRATION. 

THE    TREASURE-DIGGER.* 

All  my  weary  days  I  pass  d 
Sick  at  heart  and  poor  in  purse. 
Poverty's  the  greatest  curse, 
I; idles  are  the  highest  good  ! 
And  to  end  my  woes  at  last, 
Treasure-seeking  forth  I  sped.' 
"Thou  shalt  have  my  soul  instead !" 
Thus  I  wrote,  and  with  iny  blood. 

Ring  round  ring  I  forthwith  drew, 
Wondrous  flames  collected  there, 
Herbs  and  bones  in  order  fair, 
Till  the  charm  had  work'd  aright. 
Then,  to  learned  precepts  true, 
Dug  to  find  some  treasure  old, 
In  the  place  my  art  foretold ; 
Black  and  stormy  was  the  night. 

Coming  o'er  the  distant  plain, 
With  the  glimmer  of  a  star, 
Soon  I  saw  a  light  afar, 
As  the  hour  of  midnight  knell'd. 
Preparation  was  in  vain. 
Sudden  all  was  lighted  tip 
With  the  luster  of  a  cup 
That  a  beauteous  boy  upheld. 

Sweetly  seemed  his  eyes  to  laugh 

'Neath  his  flow'ry  chaplet's  load ; 

With  the  drink  that  brightly  glow'd, 

He  the  circle  enter'd  in. 

And  he  kindly  bade  me  quaff; 

Then  methought :  "This  child  can  ne'er, 

With  his  gift  so  bright  and  fair, 

To  the  arch-fiend  be  akin.'' 

"Goethe's  Poems,  translated  by  E.  A.  Bowing,  London. 


232  Tni;  r.i>r<  LTXHG 


"  Pure  life's  courage  drink  !"  cried  he; 
"  Tin  s  ,-ulvi'T  to  prize  then  learn,  — 

Never  to  this  place  return, 

Trusting  in  thy  spell.s  absurd  ; 

Dig  no  longer  fruitlessly. 

Guests  by  night,  and  toil  by  day! 

Weeks  laborious,  feast-days  gay  ! 

Be  thy  future  magic-word  !" 

MKANS  FOR  MAKINC  CHILDREN  LOATH  TO  WELL-J>OIN<:. 

Caroline  thought:  "To-day  I  shall  try  to  be  a  very 
good  girl,  that  the  father  to  whom  I  cause  so  much 
trouble  will  be  pleased  with  me."  Therefore,  a.s  soon  ;is 
she  had  got  up  from  her  bed  she  sat  down  behind  her  M  vy- 
ing machine,  and  worked  as  diligently  as  you  could  cxjM-et 
one  of  her  age.  She  said  to  herself:  "  How  the  father 
will  laugh  when  he  comes  into  the  room,  and  sees  how 
diligent  I  am."  The  father  entered,  but  did  not  laugh. 
He  took  the  almanac  and  looked  to  see  how  soon  there 
would  be  full  moon.  He  entered  again;  then  she  gazed 
so  lovingly  at.  him  that  you  would  think  he  must  notice 
her,  but  he  did  not.  On  the  contrary,  he  went  up  to  the 
dog,  and  began  caressing  him.  After  dinner  he  went 
out.  Caroline  went  immediately  into  his.  room,  swept  it, 
put  the  chairs  in  order,  cleaned  the  tables,  and  removed 
all  the  things  she  thought  out  of  their  right  place.  After 
this  s.he  sat  down  and  wrote  him  a  very  nice  letter,  in 
which  she  dearly  assured  him  that  she  would  be  hence- 
forth a  very  obedient  and  good  daughter.  Now  the 
father  came  and  entered  his  room.  Caroline  followed 
stealthily  in  order  to  witness  his  delight.  But  the  father 
took  no  notice  of  the  work  which,  during  his  absence,  she 
had  done.  ""Where  is  inv  pocket-book  ?  "  he  called  out 
vehemently.  Caroline,  who  could  not  recollect  in  her 


MOIJAL  CULTURE.  233 


confusion  where  she  had  put  it,  ran  frightened  all  around 
to  M'urch  for  it,  saying:  "  I  have,  I  have — "  "  Ah,  you 
put  it  aw:iy?"  "Yes;  I  wished — I  wished — "  "Such 
a  simpleton  as  you  should  not  meddle  with  my  things!" 
This  disheartened  the  j>oor  child  so  much  that  she  really 
was  about  to  tear  the  letter.  Finally  she  ventured  to 
hand  it  to  him.  "Get  out  with  that  trash!  I  have  no 
time  to  bother  with  it."  This  repulsive  treatment  killed 
forever  any  desire  in  Caroline's  mind  to  please  him. 

A  PLEA  FOR  CHILDREN* — KEEP  CHILDREN  BUSY. 

[Jeremiah  and  Franklin."] 

Jeremiah.  I  don't  know  what  on  earth  to  do  with  the 
children.  "  They  are  getting  so  mischievous  I  can't  have 
them  in  the  house,  the  back  yard  is  too  small  for  them  to 
play  in,  and  if  you  let  them  loose  in  the  street,  they  come 
back  with  the  slang  words  and  roguish  tricks  of  the 
young  scamps  in  the  neighborhood  piled  on  their  own. 
I  don't  really  see  what  is  to  be  done ! " 

Fran  L-f  in.  "What's  to  be  done?  It  certainly  is  a 
question  of  doing.  The  poor  things  must  do  something, 
and  whether  it  is  mischief  or  not,  depends  much  on  your- 
self, my  dear  sir.  They  are  like  little  lightning-rods  fully 
charged  with  the  electricity  of  their  frolicsome  youth. 
Keep  //"•/;<  !>n*y,  employ  their  young  minds  and  restless 
fingers,  and  if  you  are  tempted  to  get  out  of  patience, 
remember  the  tortures  you  yourself  used  to  endure  as  a 
child,  when  your  parents  compelled  you  to  '  sit  still  and 
be  quiet.'  Little  people  were  never  made  to  be  quiet. 
Time  enough  for  that  when  their  hair  is  streaked  with 
the  first  silver  threads.  Give  them  sunniliint/  to  do;  en- 

*Boston  Investigator,  1385. 


234  THE  EurcATiv;  MOTHER. 


murage  their  enterprise,  and  they  \vill  !><• 
enough.  Don't  leave  1  hem  to  the  risks  of  a  .street,  edu- 
cation. Ix>t  them  see  th;it  yon  sympathize  with  their 
pursuits;  teaeh  them  that  'father'  is  never  too  hn 
li.-!en  to  their  questions  and  eolijeet l ires.  'The  greatest 
mi-take  of  all,  however,  is  to  helieve  that  children  can 
be  happy  without  employment,  or  that  the  constant 
'Why?'  of  their  inquiring  eyes  and  voices  can  he  put 
oil'  with,  'Go  and  sit  down,'  or, 'Children  shouldn't  ask 
questions.'  If  the  children  are  not  to  be  allowed  that 
privilege,  who  is,  I  want  to  know.  Again  I  say,  (iirr 
them  something  to  do,  and  don't  scold  them  for  doing  it." 

HOW   TO   DEVELOP    IN    CHILDREN    A   TASTE   FOR    IDLE'. 

If  Master  Piger  had  work  to  do,  even  if  it  needed  but 
a  little  exertion,  he  talked  of  it.  some  weeks  before.  Hi- 
was  stretching  himself,  yawning,  sighing,  and  saying, 
"  Next  week  I  shall  feel  wretched,  then  I  shall  be  obliged 
to  labor.  I  wish  that  the  damned  job  were  past !  "  If 
the  work  was  at  hand,  he  fell  every  fifteen  minutes  on 
the  bench  sighing  and  crying :  "  O  God,  the  work !  Jt 
is  not  possible  to  enjoy  life."  Sunday  was  highly  valued 
by  him.  On  Saturdays  he  used  to  say :  "  Thank  God, 
the  week  has  passed  again,  to-morrow  is  Sunday,  then  I 
will  sleep  like  a  rat.  Nobody  shall  get  me  out  of  bed 
before  nine  o'clock."  And  he  kept  his  word.  If  he  saw 
a  capitalist  walking,  lie  used  to  point  him  out  to  his  chil- 
dren, saying :  "  This  man  is  rich.  He  has  no  need  to 
stir  a  finger,  he  can  eat  and  drink  what  he  pleases,  and 
sleep  a  long  as  he  likes  to. 

His  eldest  son,  Nicholas,  imbibed  this  doctrine  with 
ease,  and  took  pains  to  practice  it.  During  the  first 
twelve  years  of  life  he  was  always  idle  so  that  it  was 


MORAL  CULTURE.  235 

only  with  much  pain  and  punishment  that  he  learned  to 
read  and  write. 

Master  Piger  would  have  liked  to  have  his  son  pass 
the  remainder  of  his  life  in  rest;  but  being  poor,  he 
finally  asked  him  the  important  question,  "Nicholas, 
what  would  you  like  to  become?"  Nicholas  answered 
resolutely,  "  A  student,  father ; "  for  he  imagined  that  a 
student  must  do  nothing  but  drink  and  smoke.  Master 
Piger  approved  of  hu  son's  resolve,  and  permitted  him 
to  become  a  student.  As  he  had  many  jobs  in  distin- 
guished families,  he  succeeded  in  obtaining  support  for 
his  promising  son,  and  in  the  eighteenth  year  of  his  life, 
which  happened  to  b'ethe  year  1878,  Nicholas  really  had 
the  pleasure  of  becoming  a  student,  which  he  still  is,  in 
1887.  In  the  first  three  years  of  his  academical  course, 
he  made  his  living  off  his  patrons;  during  the  following 
three  years  by  gambling  and  cheating  his  young  and  green 
comrades.  In  the  remainder  of  time  he  gets  along  in- 
deed miserably.  His  merriment  is  waning,  the  tricks  at 
gambling  are  detected,  his  coat  is  fading,  his  linen  is  dirty; 
but  his  brother  set  sail  for  America ;  who  can  tell,  per- 
haps he  will  acquire  a  large  fortune,  and  die  in  order  to 
please  him,  leaving  him  the  heir  of  his  whole  property. 
In  this  agreeable  anticipation  he  endures  patiently  the 
pinching  of  hunger,  and  the  gnawing  of  vermin. 

TEACHERS    ARE   ALSO   MEN. 

Mr.  Samson  sent  his  little  son  to  a  school,  in  which 
were  several  teachers,  not  wholly  free  from  faults,  for 
they  were  men ;  one  was  somewhat  passionate,  and,  there- 
fore, had  irr.i'.iy  quarrels  with  other.?;  the  other  liked 
finery,  and  his  wages  not  being  sufficient,  he  sometimes 
lacked  money  for  necessary  articles,  and  had,  here  and 


236  Tin;  EDC 


tin-re,  to  borrow,  and  was,  now  and  then,  unkindly  im- 
I>ortuned  by  his  creditors.  The  third  wu-  merry,  and 
alloweil  himself  to  drink  a  glass  too  much  in  merry  soci- 
ety. If  one  of  these  gentlemen  occasionally  committed 
a  blunder,  .Mr.  Sam-on  noticed  it,  and  often  spoke  of  it 
in  the  presence  of  his  little  son.  "Yes,  these,  are  school- 
teachers, it  is  a  pity!  One  is  quarreling  every  day,  the 
second  is  a  bankrupt,  and  the  third  a  drunkard.  If  the 
teachers  behave  that  way,  what  will  the  scholars  do  ?  " 
So  he  used  to  talk  very  often.  But  he  never  spoke 
worse  of  them  than  when  they  reprimanded  or  punish  i  1 
his  son.  Then  he  used  to  say:  "What  does  the.  fool 
want  ?  He  better  take  care  of  himself;  let  him  rather 
sweep  before  his  own  door." 

Little  Samson,  who  was  not  the  brightest,  still  remem- 
bc?v  1  all  tin—.'  words.  If  a  teacher  reprimanded  him,  he 
laughed,  thinking:  "  The  fool  better  take  care  of  himself; 
let  him  sweep  before  his  own  door."  When  he  left 
school,  he  was  a  very  wild  boy  and  did  not  heed  t': 
monstrances  of  the  father.  He  picked  so  many  quarrels 
that,  by  degrees,  he  spent  his  whole  property  for  lawsuits, 
and  finally  lived  in  utter  poverty. 


TWENTY-SIXTH  LETTER. 

THRIFT    AND    FRUGALITY  —  CRAVINCNESS,    AVARICE,    AND    PRODI- 

GALITY OF  CHILDREN  —  LOVE   OF   ORDER   AND 

CLEAN  LIN  ES.S  —  VAN  ITY. 

We  know  well  that  saving  is  not  a  favorite  virtue  unto 
the  young;  on  the  contrary,  they  are  inclined  to  prodi- 
gality. In  order  to  prevent  the  one,  and  to  foster  the 
other,  do  not  give  children  all  for  nothing;  they  ought  to 
earn  many  a  thing  themselves.  Need  is  the  mother  of 


MORAL  <VI/ITI:I:.  237 


saving.  Every  pupil,  when  eighteen  or  twenty  years  old, 
ought  to  be  able  to  provide  his  board  himself.  Help  the 
child,  even  in  childhood,  to  a  little  property.  Not  only 
ought  he  to  drop  presents  given  by  kind  hands  into  his 
saving-box,  but  also  the  pay  for  rendered  services.  Sa- 
cred be  to  you  the  little  possessions  of  your  children.  I 
should  rather  starve  than  withdraw  from  my  son  his 
savings,  be  it  even  for  the  noblest  purpose,  without  his 
consent.  But  parents  should  keep  control  of  the  receipts 
and  expenses  of  the  children.  Take  away  the  presents 
the  miser  receives,  and  oblige  him  to  spend  what  he  earns 
to  a  good  purpose.  Let  the  young  spendthrift  become 
embarrassed ;  he  should  feel  the  sufferings  of  want,  he 
should  starve  in  order  that  he  may  recover  his  gotxl  sense, 
and  learn  housekeeping. 

Moreover,  train  early  to  frugality;  shun  pampering, 
and  habituate  to  hardiness.  Awaken  the  desire  for,  and 
appreciation  of,  truth,  the  beautiful,  and,  in  short,  for 
mental  culture.  A  love  for  the  sciences  and  arts  is  al- 
mo.-t,  the  only  preventive  of  children  against  fondness 
for  good  cheer  and  luxury.  Craving  and  immoderate 
inclination  to  sensuality  must  be  by  degrees  restrained 
and  crushed. 

Nothing  facilitates  every  work,  and  furthers  its  success 
so  much  as  order.  Habituate  the  pupil  to  it  betime. 
He  ought  to  perform  his  duties  at  a  definite  hour,  to  keep 
his  belongings  in  a  definite  place,  to  put  his  clothes  in  a 
definite  room.  Clothing,  school  implements,  playthings 
ought  not  to  lie  scattered  about.  Older  children  should 
have  fixed  hours  for  their  work.  If,  in  the  first  place, 
the  mother  herself  loves  order,  and  pays  particular  atten- 
tion to  cleanliness,  her  example  will  do  this  for  them. 


238  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 


Cleanliness  recommends  young  people,  esj>ecially 
more  than  beauty  itself.  Nothing  is  more  respected  in 
the  fashionable  world  than  a  genteel  behavior  and  clean- 
liness. The  latter  can,  therefore,  not  be  brought  home 
too  closely  to  the  hearts  of  our  youth.  For  the  most 
part  the  laziness  and  the  example  of  the  parents  is  the 
cause  of  the  slovenliness  of  the  children.  "  Teach  your 
children  to  be  clean ;  the  dirty  child  is  the  mother's  dis- 
grace."* The  face  and  hands,  the  dwelling  and  cloth- 
ing of  the  children  should  always  be  kept  clean.  Do 
not  permit  them  to  associate  with  children  whose  exterior 
is  neglected,  for  impurity  of  morals  and  external  filth 
are  too  often  matched  together.  Impress  upon  the  girl 
the  fact  that  not  pnornt'**,  but  certainly  carelexxnr**  in 
dressing  is  a  disgrace.  A  girl  can  be  dressed  i>oorly,  and 
yet  decently,  and  even  with  good  taste.  Besides,  mothers 
ought  to  be  careful  that  their  daughters  be  not  conceited 
by  their  beauty,  attire,  and  finery.  A  pure,  smiling  lace, 
plain,  clean  dress,  and  a  rase  in  the  curled  hair,  joined  to 
chastity,  good  breeding,  and  benevolence,  impart  a  young 
lady  a  higher  value  than  glittering  diamonds  and  the 
finest  laces. 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

HOW  TO   MAKE   CHILDREN    FOND   OF   DAINTIES. 

Freddie  wanted  the  first  of  every  meal  that  was  served 
up.  If  the  mother  brought  cake  into  the  room,  the 
daughter  called  out,  "Mamma,  I  want  some  cake,  too," 
and  the  tender  mother  replied,  "  Ye?,  Freddie,  you  shall 
have  cake,  only  wait  a  moment,  till  I  fetch  the  knife." 

"Chavasse,  "  Physical  Training  of  Children." 


MORAL  CULTURE.  239 


But  Freddie  <li<l  not  like  (o  wait;  she  demanded,  impet- 
uously, "I  want  cake  now ;"  so  the  mother  broke  off  a 
piece  with  her  hand.  When  the  dishes  were  served  up, 
she  drew  her  chair  up  also,  shoved  her  plate  to  the  dish, 
and  the  mother  helped  her  to  a  piece.  To  be  sure,  the 
father  sometimes  told  her  that  this  behavior  was  unwom- 
anly, but  she  met  him  with  the  answer:  "She  is  but  a 
child  ;  when  she  gets  her  reason,  she  will  be  all  right!  " 
If  the  parents  had  visitors,  the  first  cup  of  coffee,  of 
course,  was  given  to  her,  and  the  guests  had  to  wait  till 
the  demands  of  Freddie  were  satisfied.  If  the  dessert 
was  served  up,  she  must  also  get  her  share.  When  this 
was  eaten,  she  pulled  the  apron  of  the  mother,  pointing 
to  the  plate,  and  even  cried  out,  when  the  mother  took  no 
notice  of  her,  "  I  want  dessert,  dessert,"  and  the  kind 
mother  handed  one  piece  after  another  behind  her  chair. 
By  and  by  Freddie  was  no  more  a  child  ;  she  became 
u  young  lady.  But  still,  as  to  her  selfish  greed,  she  was 
not  "  all  right,"  as  the  mother  had  believed.  Whenever 
she  saw  some  dainty,  it  made  her  mouth  water,  and  she- 
would  mischievously  get  possession  of  it.  The  mother 
had  to  lock  up  everything  on  her  account,  else  as  soon 
;;s  she  turned  her  back,  Miss  Frederica  was  at  it,  and  ate 
it.  Do  you  wonder  where  her  unconquerable  longing  for 
dainties  had  its  rise? 

MR.    ANTHONY. 

OIVE   CHILDREN  MONEY  WITHOUT  ASKING  HOW  THEY  I7SE    IT. 

Mr.  Anthony  had  heard  it  .said  that  in  distinguished 
families  it  is  the  fashion  to  give  pocket  money  to  the  chil- 
dren. As  he  would  be  ranked  among  the  distinguished, 
he,  also,  gave  his  children  pocket  money  on  Sunday,  and 


240  THE  EDUCATING  MOTJIKI;. 

when  Sunday  next  returned  he  paid  the  granted  sum 
again  without  inquiring  a  word  as  to  how  they  used  it. 
They  spent  it  entirely  for  dainties.  In  the  iii>t  week 
their  pocket  money  sufficed  to  cover  these  expenses,  hut 
as  their  covetousness  was  more  and  more  incited,  and  in 
course  of  time  they  became  acquainted  with  dearer  del- 
icacies, it  was  usually  spent  already  on  Monday.  Now, 
the  good  children  ought  to  live  the  whole  week  long 
without  being  able  to  eat  dainties  out  of  the  pocket; 
that  would  not  do  by  any  means.  Therefore  they  con- 
templated means  to  remedy  this  want.  First,  they  bor- 
rowed, and  paid  with  the  money  which  was  designed  for 
the  next  week,  but  this  could  not  hold  out.  Things 
soon  went  on  so  far  that  they  had  spent  their  pocket 
money  three  months  in  advance.  What  was  then  to  be 
done?  They  had  recourse  to  stealing,  and  performed 
their  part  quite  cunningly.  As  their  father  had  a  large 
revenue,  and  did  not  know,  himself,  how  much  money  he 
possessed  in  cash,  they  could  steal  from  him,  dollar  by 
dollar,  without  his  noticing  it.  The  dissolute  student 
who  pawned  all  his  goods,  and  some  weeks  ago  was  im- 
|irisoned  for  his  debts;  and  the  woman  so  notorious  for 
pawning  her  linen  and  clothes  in  order  to  make,  by 
stealth,  good  pastry — these  are  the  children  of  whom  f 
spoke  now.  Too  late  the  good  father  is  grieved  almost 
to  death,  and  absolutely  wants  to  know  who  spoiled  his 
children.  He  says  that  he  is  not  in  fault ;  that  he  lia- 
brought  them  up  to  honest  living. 

THE   VAIN<;U>KIOIS    KKNKSTINE. 

When  Miss  Emily  got  married,  she  must,  to  her  great 
vexation,  abandon  her  doll  which  hitherto  had  been  her 
dearest  companion.  Nine  months  after  Ernestine  was 


MORAL,  CULTURE.  241 


born,  and  Emily  felt  the  loss  of  her  doll  entirely  repaid. 
1  hiring  her  childbed  she  laid  great  plans  as  to  the  future 
arrangement  of  the  child's  finery,  and  for  the  most  part 
executed  them  happily.  She  succeeded  in  dressing  her 
hair  in  her  third  year.  Ernestine  possessed  several  good 
Dualities.  She  often  shared  her  breakfast  with  poor 
children,  and  cheered  them,  from  her  saving-box.  She 
was  desirous  of  learning.  Often  she  fetched  her  primer 
herself,  and  asked  the  mother  to  teach  her  the  letters. 
All  this  was  not  observed.  On  the  contrary,  if  the 
t  i-ii i lining  was  a  success,  if  she  wore  a  new  dress,  bonnet,  or 
ribbon,  the  mother  could  not  praise  and  admire  it  enough. 
She  embraced  and  kissed  her,  called  her  her  angel,  her 
darling,  led  her  to  the  mirror  and  asked  her  with  moth- 
erly tenderness  to  be  cautious  less  she  deranged  the  head- 
gear, or  spoiled  the  dress.  By  this  faithful  education 
Krnestine  at  last  was  perfectly  convinced  that  woman  was 
created  to  adorn  herself,  and  that  finery  is  her  highest 
happiness.  She  became  exceedingly  vain.  She  is  as 
proud  of  her  gold  watch  as  other  people  are  of  their 
clear  conscience;  she  talks  of  her  Parisian  bonnet  with 
as  much  warmth  as  another  woman  would  of  honesty, 
and  she  pardons  more  easily  the  greatest  meanness  than 
neglect  in  dressing.  She  does  not  know  how  to  cook  a 
good  meal,  how  many  yards  are  wanted  for  a  coverlet; 
but  she  knows  by  rote  how  the  sweet-scented  j>omade  is 
prepared,  and  how  many  yards  of  lace  are  wanted  to 
trim  -a  ball-dress.  During  gloomy  hours,  while  other 
people  read  good  books,  she  has  recourse  to  the  wardrobe, 
to  the  jetfel-casket,  and  counts  over  and  over  her  dr. 
ribbons,  ant  I  rings;  that  is,  the  consolation  and  comfort  of 
her  heart. 


THE  EDUCATING  MOTJIU: 

'/'  WENTY-8EVENTH  LKTTKU. 

>;AL  RESPECT  FOR  MANKIND — REGARD  FOR  THE  PROPERTY 
OF  OTHERS -FILCHING — VERACITY — LYING— PATRIOTISM. 

Iieason  teaches  us  the  respectable  qualities  of  human 
nature  which  cannot  In-  destroyed  by  any  meanness,  only 
polluted,  hut  again  purified.  Instruct  your  children  to 
ivspect  human  nature  in  themselves  and  other  men.  Its 
nobility  .shines;  also  on  the  forehead  of  the  day-laborer.  I 
wish  that  mothers,  especially  those  whom  fortune  favored 
with  prominence  and  riches,  would  impros  upon  their 
children  res|>ect  for  honest  labor,  and  warn  them  not  to 
abuse  the  power  that  descent,  rank  and  gold  procure  to 
them,  and  earnestly  to  resent  every  infringement  of  the 
rights  (»f  common  j)eople.  On  the  contrary,  poor  paren,  . 
in  particular,  ought  to  instill  into  their  children  such  a  dig- 
nified self-respect  that  they  would  never  yield  to  cowardly 
humiliation,  and  never  give  up  their  mo-t  sacred  rights. 
Their  mothers  should  rather  inspire  them  to  defend  their 
rights,  and  animate  them  with  a  noble  pride  against  the 
haughty  upstart. 

Let  the  j>r<ij» •/•///  of  others  be  sacred  to  yourself,  and  it 
will  also  be  respect*-.!  by  your  children.  The  filching 
habits  of  little  children  originate  from  their  ignorant-l- 
ot* the  rights  of  property;  they  do  not  have  yet  any  idea 
of  the  distinction  between  "mine"  and  "thine."  A  - 
every  child  ought  to  have  a  little  property,  it  is  easy  to 
make  him  understand  the  principle,  "What  you  don't 
like  others  to  do  unto  you,  that,  also,  do  not  unto  them." 
Take  care  that  the  child  earns  some  projjerty  himself. 
He  who  has  to  earn  something  learns  soon  to  comprehend 
the  sanctity  of  projR-rty.  Don't  permit  children  to  talk 
each  other  out  of  a  thing.  Tin-  little  thief  li.uiM  l>e 


243 


made  to  return  what  he  stole,  or  to  make  amends  of  the 
damage.  Corporal  correction  may,  according  to  circum- 
stanees,  also  lall  to  his  lot.  With  older  pupils  an  appeal 
should  be  made  to  the  impulse  of  honor,  and  be  born 
with  their  sense  of  shame  by  keeping  secret  their  trespass. 
Parents  should  never  smile  at  the  sly  cheats  of  their 
children,  however  much  they  may  resemble  fine  juggling 
tricks,  nor  how  seemingly  innocent  their  object  may  be. 
From  the  parents  the  child  learns  best  the  beauty  and 
necessity  of  ct-rncity,  too.  For  this  reason  the  parents 
should  forbear  telling  lies  by  way  of  joke,  shifts,  pious 
and  conventional  lies.  Some  parents  tell  children  pious 
stories  which  they  do  not  believe  themselves.  That  is 
the  way  to  educate  hypocrites.  Show  how  you  detect 
liars  and  slanderers,  and  let  no  lie  of  the  children  pass 
unresented.  Pupils  growing  to  maturity  ought  to  learn 
to  join  sincerity  with  prudence  and  taciturnity.  Children 
are  naive.  They  do  not  know  the  art  of  dissembling, 
and  tell  people  the  truth  in  a  straightforward  way.  I 
prefer  to  let  them  long  retain  their  childish  simplicity 
than  to  make  them  early  friends  of  conventional  lies, 
if  a  child  commits  a  fault,  we  ought  to  punish  it  hu- 
manely and  rather  to  set  entire  amnesty  the  prize  of  its 
sincerity  than  to  misguide  it  by  severity  to  lie.* 
Children  often  sj>eak  untruth,  partly  for  the  hi>i>e  of 
gaining  something  by  lying,  often  to  evade  a  punishment, 
and  often  they  are  deceived  by  their  imagination,  which, 
at  their  age,  is  very  vivid  ami  lively.  Malicious  lies, 
too,  sometimes  occur.  The  healing  of  the  defect  is  to  lie 
adapted  to  its  source.  In  every  case  let  the  liar  feel  that 
you  prefer  sincerity  to  anything.  Recompense  the  ve- 

*Compare  second  illustration  of  twenty  first  letter. 


244  THE  EDI<<'ATIN<I   M<>TMI:I;. 

racious  one  with  confidence;  the  share  of  the  liar  be 
diffidence,  contempt  and  disgrace.  He  ought  to  led  that 
falsehood  only  renders  the  evil  worse.  Corporal  punish- 
ment may  be  inflicted,  too,  upon  the  malicious  liar,  he- 
cause  he  will  harm  others.  But  we  ought  to  avoid  ex- 
torting confession  from  the  little  sinner  as  though  he  was 
at  the  mercy  of  an  inquisitorial  tribunal.  Seldom  should 
we  require  even  his  confession ;  why  must  he  still  confess, 
if  blushing,  trembling,  tears  of  the  miserable  testily  loud 
enough  against  him? 

Implant  patriot'mn  in  the  hearts  of  your  older  children. 
In  which  way  can  this  be  done?  Delineate  them  the 
benefits  they  owe  to  their  country,  saying:  "You  lived 
here  when  you  were  a  little  child.  How  many  pleasures 
did  you  enjoy  here  in  the  different  seasons  of  the  year! 
The  animals,  the  fields  and  gardens  of  your  country  spend 
you  their  riches.  It  is  the  country  of  your  parents,  to 
whom  you  owe  your  life,  who  support  and  protect  you, 
and  spend  their  own  in  order  to  satisfy  your  wants;  who 
give  you  an  education,  and  send  you  to  school  where 
your  mind  is  enlightened,  developed  and  instructed  in 
several  useful  branches  of  learning.  Besides  you  are 
indebted  to  this  country  for  your  brothers,  sisters  and 
friends.  How  many  happy  hours  did  you  pass  in  their 
intercourse.  For  these  reasons  you  ought  to  be  grateful 
to  her,  to  give  your  love  and  respect  to  her  institution  , 
to  obey  her  laws,  and  advance  her  prosperity." 

"  Knit  to  thy  heart  the  ties  of  kindred,  home, 
Cling  to  the  land,  the  clear  land  of  thy  sires, 
Grapple  to  that  with  thy  whole  heart  and  soul. 
Thy  power  is  rooted  deep  and  strongly  here. 
But  in  yon  stranger  world  thou'lt  staud  alone 
A  trembling  reed  bent  down  by  every  blast."* 

Schiller,  "  Wilhelm  Tell,"  Act  II,  Scene  I. 


MORAL  CULTURE.  245 

Moreover,  let  the  children  study  the  history  of  their 
country,  and  learn  her  happy  events  and  misfortunes,  the 
glorious  and  the  shameful  deeds  of  her  citizens.  Narrate 
to  them  the  history  of  the  liberal  citizens  whose  works  were 
conducive  to  the  public  good,  who  jeopardized  and  sacri- 
ficed their  own  life  for  their  country,  of  Leonidas,  Codrus, 
Aristides,  Brutus,  Anninius,  William  Tell,  Arnold  Win- 
kelried,  Joan  of  Arc,  Marco  Bozzaris,  George  Washing- 
ton, Abraham  Lincoln,  who  delivered  four  millions  of 
slaves  from  bondage,  of  the  American  Revolutionary  War, 
and  encourage  them  to  defend  their  country,  in  the  same 
way,  if  it  be  necessary,  against  her  foreign  and  domestic1 
enemies,  even  to  offer,  like  those  heroes,  their  life  for  her 
welfare. 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

THK  MAID-SERVANTS  AND  THEIR  MISTRESS. 

Mrs.  Shrew,  Charlotte's  mother,  had,  as  she  said,  bad 
luck  with  her  maid-servants.  She  had  sought,  a  long 
time,  a  girl  who  would  be  entirely  according  to  her  mind, 
but,  alas !  in  vain.  She  turned  every  year  three  or  four 
out,  hoping  to  get  finally  a  really  good  one,  and  she  never 
got  her.  She  used  to  say,  "  If  I  expel  one  devil,  I  re- 
cover another."  The  first  was  too  slow,  the  other  too 
saucy,  the  third  looked  as  if  her  eyes  would  stab  every- 
one, the  fourth  had  a  malicious  tongue;  in  a  word,  of  the 
sixty  girls  she  had  engaged  during  the  sixteen  years  of 
her  married  life,  each  one  had  a  great  flaw.  And  she 
had  kept  them  all  in  memory.  Whenever  the  servants 
were  mentioned,  she  related  with  the  greatest  vehemence 
what  she  had  suffered  from  Julia,  Christina,  and  Kath- 
arine, and  usually  added  that 'this  rabble  did  not  deserve 


Tin.   F.I.I  (  ATIV«; 


a  bit  of  the  bread  she  oticred  them.  If  a  girl  made  a 
mistake,  you  ought  to  have  heard  the  fuss;  she  made  about 
it!  "You  infamous  wretch,"  she  used,  to  say,  "  you  arc 
not  worth  that  the  suu  shines  upon  you.  Such  a  hloek- 
head.  Do  you  not  know  that  you  are  eating  my  I  tread  Y" 
»  !••.,  etc. 

Near  such  a  mother  Charlotte  grew  up.  The  servant- 
girls  must  wait  on  her  from  daylight  till  evening;  they 
had  to  make  her  bed,  to  wash  her  linen,  to  bake  her 
bread,  to  mend  her  clothing,  to  cook  her  meals,  to  fetch 
all  she  pleased  from  the  most  distant  quarters  of  town; 
and  it  never  occurred  to  her  mind  to  show  them  any 
gratitude  for  the  many  comforts  they  conferred  upon  her. 
On  the  contrary,  she  treated  the  jtersoiis  who  rendered 
her  SO  many  services  in  the  meanest  manner.  "Block- 
head. monkey's  face,  camel!"  these  were  the  usual  titles 
ahe  gave  them;  and  if  something  Implied  contrary  to 
her  will,  c.  </.,  if  the  stay-lace  broke,  or  the  head-dress 
would  not  tit  well,  then  she  called  for  the  girl  in  order  to 
vent  her  indignation  on  her.  If  someone  had  so  used 
her  lap-dog,  I  should  have  liked  to  see  the  result. 

HOW    TO   TEACH  CHILDREN   TO   LIE  —  ORDER  THEM  TO    LIE  BET)  ME. 

Master  Stephen  was  very  able  to  practice  that  rule. 
Hardly  a  day  passed  away  without  instructing  little 
Stephen  to  tell  at  least  one  lie.  If  he  noticed  that  some- 
one whom  lie  did  not  like  to  see  would  visit  him,  he  put 
him  to  the  door,  and  said:  "If  such  a  one  comes  I 
me  tell  him  the  father  is  not  at  home."  If  a  poor 
woman  or  child  came  to  ask  a  piece  of  bread,  he  ordered 
him  to  say  that  he  had,  to-day,  no  bread  for  himself. 
The  little  boy  did  not  like  to  go  to  school,  and  mis.-ed  it 
under  diverse  trilling  pretexts.  Next  day  he  was  .-till 


MOIJAI,  <  Vi.Tn:r.  247 

more  afraid  of  it  because  lie  feared  to  be  punished. 
"Foolish  ))oy!"  said  then  Master  Stephen,  "you  have 
onlv  to  say  that  you  wore  unwell,  the  teacher  must  be- 
lieve it,  anyhow." 

Mrs.  Stephen  was  rather  niggardly  in  her  expenditures, 
and  if  the  little  son  asked  for  a  cent  to  buy  biscuit,  he 
was  usually  denied  it.  Nevertheless,  he  ate  every  day 
cherries,  strawberries,  or  other  fruit  of  the  season.  His 
Cat  her  Lrave  him  secretly  cent  by  .cent,  but  warned  him  to 
conceal  his  money  before  his  mother,  and  if  she  saw  it 
to  tell  her  that  his  godfather  had  given  it  to  him.  The 
young  Stephen  made  soon  great  progress  in  lying ;  but  he 
played,  also,  when  he  was  older,  many  a  trick  with  which 
his  father  was  not  pleased.  He  left  his  work  for  half  days 
on  the  pretext  that  he  was  obliged  to  see  the  godfather 
or  grandmother,  but  he  went,  instead,  into  the  most  dis- 
solute houses,  where  he  squandered  many  a  dollar.  By 
and  by  the  father  missed  money  and  other  valuables. 
Once,  being  at  table,  he  said,  "There  must  be  a  thief  in 
the  house,  whom  I  must  find  out."  The  young  Stephen 
took  the  father  aside,  and  whispered  in  his  ear:  "Will 
you  know  who  is  your  thief?  It  is  the  journeyman.  He 
spends  so  much  in  the  saloons,  that  the  whole  town  talks 
of  it.  Do  you  not  miss  a  dollar?  Indeed?  Now  see, 
last  Sunday  IK;  staked  it  in  the  hotel,  in  gambling." 
Master  Stephen  was  vexed,  attacked  the  man  furiously, 
and  called  him  a  thief,  a  rascal.  The  young  man  cried, 
"  The  rascal  shall  cost  you  dearly."  He  brought  an  ac- 
tion against  Master  Stephen,  which  resulted  in  the  fact 
that  his  accuser  had  to  ask  his  pardon,  make  reparation 
of  his  honor,  and  besides  pay  a  heavy  fine. 

Finally  it  happened,  according  to  the  proverb,  "  The 


248  THE  Ei>n  \n\«.  MOTHER. 

jar  that  goes  so  often  tor  water  finally  breaks."  Master 
Stephen  detected,  by  ;uid  by,  all  tin- villainies  of  his  son. 
He  scolded,  he  chastised,  he  threatened  him  with  the 
house  of  correction;  but  nothing  availed.  lie  became  a 
poor  man.  Then  he  is  said  to  have  often  lamented,  "I 
wish  to  know  where  my  son  learned  to  tell  those  cur.-ed 
lies!'1 

LAUGH   AT   THE   LIES   OF   YOUR   CHILDREN,    AND    RECOMPENSE 
THEM    IF   THEY   LIE. 

"Do  I  also  get  wine?"  asked  little  Annie  of  her 
mother.  "No,  Annie,  wine  is  noxious  to  children." 
"But  I  am  sick,  and -have  a  weak  stomach.  You  told 
me  once  that  wine  is  healthful  to  a  weak  stomach."  The 
whole  company  laughed  at  the  droll  girl.  The  mother 
seized  immediately  the  bottle,  and  jxiured  from  its  con- 
tents, saying:  "Here  is  a  little  glass  full  for  you,  little 
wanton.  Is  now  the  stomach  well,  indeed?"  "Yes, 
mamma,  quite  well,  nothing  ails  me  more."  This  sally 
was  al.-o  received  with  laughter.  Annie  kept  it  in  mem- 
ory, and  tried  several  times  to  obtain  the  approbation  of 
her  mother,  and  so  she  got  used,  by  such  jokes,  to  lie  so 
often  that  she,  in  future,  was  always  in  town  known  by 
the  nickname,  "  The  lying  Annie." 

A   MODEL   OF  CONVENTIONAL    LIES.* 

"  I  really  take  it  very  kind, 
This  visit,  Mrs.  Skinner. 
I  have  not  seen  you  in  an  age — 
(The  wretch  has  coine  to  dinner!) 

"  Your  daughters,  too,  what  loves  of  girls, 

What  heads  for  painters'  easels! 
Come  here  and  kiss  the  infant,  dears, — 
(And  give  it,  p'raps,  the  mer.sles!) 

l'i>t'insof  Thomas  Hood. 


MORAL  CULTURE.  249 

' '  Your  charming  boys,  I  see  are  home 

From  Reverend  Mr.  Russell's; 
'Twas  very  kind  to  bring  them  both, — 
(What  boots  for  my  new  Brussels!) 

"What!  Little  Clara  left  at  home? 
Well,  now,  I  call  that  shabby; 
I  should  have  loved  to  kiss  her  so, — 
(A  flabby,  dabby,  babby!) 

"And  Mr.  Skinner,  I  hope  he's  well. 

Ah!  though  he  lives  so  handy, 
He  never  now  drops  in  to  sup, — 
(The  better  for  our  brandy!) 

"Come,  take  a  sit;  I  long  to  hear 

About  Matilda's  marriage. 
You're  come,  of  course,  to  spend  the  day! 
(I  thank  heaven  I  hear  the  carriage!) 

"What,  must  you  go?     Next  time,  I  hope 

You'll  give  me  longer  measure; 
Nay,  I  shall  see  you  down  the  stairs.  - 
(With  most  xmcominon  pleasure!) 

"flood-by!  (lood-by!  Kcmember  all, 

Next  time  you'll  take  your  dinners! 
(Now,  David,  mind  I'm  not  at  home 
In  future  to  the  Skinners!)" 

THK   SICK   GRANDMOTHER  AN1)  LITTLE  RODOLPH,  HER  GRAND- 
SON.      A    DIALOGUE.* 

Grandmother,  (speaking  to  Rudolph)  "  Why  did.-t 
thou  yesterday,  secretly,  behind  my  bed,  eat  potatoes?" 

Rudolph.  "Pardon  me,  grandma,!  shall  not  more  do 
it.  To  be  sure,  I  shall  do  it  never  morel" 

d.  "Didst  thou  steal  them?" 

R.  (nobbing)  "  Yes,  grandma." 

G.  "  From  whom  didst  thou  steal  them  ?  " 


'From  Pestalozzi,  in  "  Lienhard  and  Gertrude." 


250  THE  EDUCATING  MOTIIKI:. 

R.  "  From  the  mason." 

G.  "Thou  must  go  to  him,  Rodolph,  and  beg  his 
pardon." 

/'.  "  Dear  grandma,  (or  God's  sake,  I  dare  not." 

G.  "Thou  must  go,  and,  my  child,  go  willingly.  An- 
other time,  thou  shalt  he  more  careful ;  and,  for  heaven's 
sake,  though  thou  be  hungry,  do  not  take  more  anything 
from  another." 

R.  "Grandma,  I  shall  certainly  not  more  steal,  though 
I  be  hungry." 

She  said  yet  to  her  son  Rodolph,  the  father  of  little 
Rodolph:  "Go  now  with  him  and  tell  to  the  wife  of  the 
mason  that  I,  too,  beg  her  pardon.  They  want,  also, 
their  own.  And  you  work  for  him  a,  couple  of  days, 
will  you,  that  they  get  again  their  own. 

"O  my  God,"  replied  Rwlolph,  "willingly,  deal- 
mother." 

THE    TWKNTIKT1I    CENTURY.* 

Louis  Philippe,  in  1830  elected  king  of  France,  did 
not  fulfill  the  expectations  of  the  patriots.  He,  by  de- 
grees, joined  the  odious  party  of  retrocession.  Bloody 
insurreetions  broke  out  in  La  Vendee,  and  other  part-  of 
the  country.  Such  one  occurred  in  Paris,  the  sixth  of 
June,  in  18-32,  in  which  the  insurgents  were  overwhelmed 
and  killed  by  the  troops  of  the  Government.  Before, 
they  began  the  last  tight,  Knjolras,  their  leader,  ad- 
dressed his  fellow-combatants  thus: — 

"Courage,  and  forward,  citi/.ens!  We  are  proceeding 
to  a  union  of  the  peoples;  we  are  proceeding  to  a  unity 
of  man.  No  more  fictions,  no  more  parasite.  Civiliza- 
tion will  hold  its  assize  on  the  summit  of  Europe1,  and 

"Victor  Hugo  in  "  Lea  Miscrahlcs,"  Hi.  230. 


MORAL  CULTURE.  251 

eventually  in  the  center  of  the  continent  in  a  great  par- 
liament of  intellect.  Let  us  come  to  an  understanding 
about  equality,  for  if  liberty  be  the  summit,  equality  is 
the  base.  Equality,  citizens,  is  not  the  whole  of  society 
on  a  level,  a  society  of  tall  blades  of  grass,  and  small 
oaks,  or  a  number  of  entangled  jealousies;  it  is,  civilly, 
every  aptitude  having  the  same  opening ;  politically,  all 
votes  having  the  same  weight;  and  religiously,  all  con- 
sciences having  the  same  right.  Equality  has  an  organ 
in  gratuitous  and  compulsory  education,  and  it  should 
begin  with  the  right  to  the  alphabet.  The  primary 
(common)  school  imposed  on  all,  the  secondary  (higher) 
school  offered  to  all ;  such  is  the  law,  and  from  the  iden- 
tii-al  school  issues  equal  instruction.  Yes,  instruction! 
Light,  light !  Everything  comes  from  light,  and  every- 
thing returns  to  it.  Citizens,  the  nineteenth  century  is 
great,  but  the  twentieth  century  will  be  happy.  Then 
there  will  be  nothing  left  resembling  ancient  history; 
there  will  be  no  cause  to  fear,  as  at  the  present  day,  a 
conquest,  an  invasion,  usurpation,  an  armed  rivalry  of 
nations,  an  interruption  of  civilization  depending  oil  a 
marriage  of  kings,  a  birth  in  hereditary  tyrannies,  a 
division  of  peoples  by  congress,  a  dismemberment  by  the 
collapse  of  dynasties,  a  combat  of  two  religions,  clashing 
like  two  goats  of  the  darkness,  on  the  bridge  of  infinity ; 
there  will  be  no  cause  longer  to  tear  famine,  exhaustion, 
prostitution  through  destiny,  misery  through  stoppage  of 
work,  and  the  scaffold,  and  the  sword,  and  battles,  and  all 
the  brigandage  of  accident  in  the  forest  of  events  ;  we 
might  almost  say  there  will  be  no  more  events.  We 
shall  be  happy ;  the  human  race  will  accomplish  its  law 
as  the  terrestrial  law  does  its  law.  Oh,  the  human  race 
will  be  delivered,  relieved,  and  consoled!  " 


252  THE  EDU(  vrrxc  Mo-rim:. 

TIIF,     Jlirll      AND     I'OOB.  * 

So  we  ought  to  teach  our  children  that  great  wealth  is 
a  curse,  (ircat  wealth  is  the  mother  also  of  crime.  ( )n 
the  other  hand  are  the  poor.  And  let  me  ask  to-night, 
Is  the.  world  forever  to  remain  as  it  was  as  Lear  made 
his  prayer?  Is  it  ever  to  remain  as  it  is  now?  I  hope 
not.  Are  there  .always  to  he  millions  whose  lips  are 
white  with  famine?  Is  the  withered  palm  to  be  always 
extended,  imploring  from  the  stony  heart  of  respectable 
charity,  alms?  Must  every  man  who  sits  down  to  a. 
decent  dinner  always  think  of  the  starving?  Must  every- 
one sitting  by  the  fireside,  think  of  some  poor  mother, 
with  a  child  strained  to  her  breast,  shivering  in  the 
storm  ?  I  hope  not.  Are  the  rich  always  to  be  divided 
from  the  poor,  not  only  in  fact  but  in  feeling?  Au<l 
that  division  is  growing  more  and  more  every  day.  The 
gulf  between  Lazarus  and  Dives  widens  year  by  year, 
only  their  positions  are  changed.  Lazarus  is  in  hell, 
Dives  is  in  the  bosom  of  Abraham. 

And  there  is  one  thing  that  helps  to  widen  this  gulf. 
In  nearly  every  city  you  will  find  the  fashionable  part 
and  the  poor  part.  The  poor  know  nothing  of  the  fash- 
ionable part,  except  the  outside  splendor;  and  as  they 
go  by  the  palaces,  that  poison  plant  called  envy  springs 
and  grows  in  their  poor  hearts.  The  rich  know  nothing 
of  the  poor,  except  the  squalor,  and  rags,  and  wretched- 
ness, and  what  they  read  in  the  police  records,  and  they 
say:  "  Thank  God,  we  are  not  like  those  people."  Their 
hearts  are  filled  with  scorn  and  contempt,  and  the  hearts 
of  the  others  with  envy  and  hatred.  There  must  be 
some  way  devised  for  the  rich  and  poor  to  get  acquainted. 

*From  the  "  Lay-sermon  "  of  Robert  Ingersoll. 


CULTURE.  253 


The  poor  do  not  know  h<»w  many  well-dressed  people  sym- 
pathize with  them,  and  the  rich  do  not  know  how  many 
noble  hearts  beat  beneath  rags.  If  we  can  ever  get  the 
loving  poor  acquainted  with  the  sympathizing  rich,  this 
question  will  be  nearly  solved. 

You  have  heard  a  great  deal  lately  upon  the  land  sul>- 
ject.  Let  me  say  a  word  or  two  upon  that.  No  man 
should  be  allowed  to  own  any  land  that  he  does  not  use. 
Everybody  knows  that  1  do  not  care  whether  he  has 
thousands  or  millions.  I  have  owned  a  great  deal  of 
land,  but  I  know  just  as  well  as  I  know  I  am  living  that 
I  should  not  be  allowed  to  have  it  unless  I  use  it.  And 
why?  Itseemstome  that  every  child  of  nature  is  entitled 
to  his  share  of  the  land,  and  that  he  should  not  be  com- 
pelled to  beg  the  privilege  to  work  the  soil  of  a  babe  that 
happened  to  be  born  before  him.  And  why  do  I  say 
this?  Because  it  is  not  to  our  interest  to  have  a  few 
landlords  and  millions  of  tenants. 

Tlie  tenement  house  is  the  enemy  of  modesty,  the 
enemy  of  virtue,  the  enemy  of  patriotism.  Home  is 
where  the  virtues  grow.  I  would  like  to  see  the  law  so 
that  every  home,  to  a  small  amount,  should  be  free  not 
only  from  sale  or  debts,  but  should  be  absolutely  free 
from  taxation,  so  that  every  man  could  have  a  home. 
Then  we  will  have  a  nation  of  patriots. 

What  remedy,  then,  is  there?  First,  the  great  weapon 
in  this  country  is  the  ballot,  Each  voter  is  a  sovereign. 
There  the  poorest  is  the  equal  of  the  richest.  His  vote 
will  count  just  as  many  as  though  the  hand  that  cast  it 
cmil rolled  millions.  The  poor  are  in  the  majority  in  this 
country.  If  there  is  any  law  that  oppresses-  them  it  is 
their  fault.  Let  us,  above  all  things,  get  acquainted  with 


254  THE  EDUCATING  MOTIM:I:. 


each  other.  Let  every  man  teach  his  son,  tench  his 
daughter,  that  labor  is  honorable.  Let  us  tench  < nil- 
children:  It  is  your  business  to  see  thnt  von  never  be- 
come a  burden  on  others.  Your  first  diilv  is  to  take 
care  of  yourselves,  and  if  there  is  a  surplus  with  that 
surplus  help  your  fellow-man ;  that  you  o\ve  it  to  your- 
selves, above  all  tilings,  not  to  be  a  burden  upon  others. 
Teach  your  son  that  it  is  his  duty  not  only,  but  his  high- 
est joy,  to  become  a  home-builder,  a  home-owner.  Teach 
your  children  that  by  the  11  reside  is  the  real  and  true 
happiness  of  this  world.  Teach  them  that  whoever  is  an 
idler,  whoever  lives  upon  the  labor  of  others,  whether  he 
is  a  pirate  or  a  king,  is  a  dishonorable  person.  Teach 
them  that  no  civilized  man  wants  anything  for  nothing, 
or  for  less  than  it  is  worth;  that  he  wants  Co  go  through 
this  world  paying  his  way  as  he,  goes,  and  if  he  gets  a 
little  ahead  an  extra  joy,  it  should  be  divided  with 
another,  if  that  other  is  doing  for  himself.  Help  others 
to  help  themselves. 

So  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  am  going  to  do  what  little 
I  can  to  help  my  fellow-men  who  have  not  been  as  fort- 
unate as  I  have  been.  1  shall  do  what  little  1  can  to 
hasten  the  day  when  this  earth  shall  be  covered  with 
homes,  and  when  by  the  fireside  of  the  world  shall  sit 
happy  lathers,  and  mothers,  and  children. 

-MillAIIAM      LINCOLN.* 

"  Oh,  slow  to  smite,  and  swift  to  spare, 

Gentle,  ami  merciful,  and  just! 
Who  in  the  fear  of  Uod  didst  bear 

The  sword  of  power,  a  nation's  trust! 
In  sorrow  by  thy  bier  we  stand, 

'  W.  ('.    Bryant. 


MORAL  CULTURE.  255 

Amid  the  awe  that  hushes  all, 
And  speak  the  anguish  of  a  laud 

That  shook  with  horror  at  thy  fall. 
Thy  task  is  done:  the  bond  are  free; 

We  bear  thee  to  an  honored  grave, 
Whose  proudest  monument  shall  be 

The  broken  fetters  of  the  slave. 
Pure  was  thy  life;  its  bloody  close 

Hath  placed  thee-  with  the  sons  of  light, 
Among  the  noble  host  of  those 

Who  perished  in  the  cause  of  right." 


TWENTY-EIGHTH  LETTER. 

FILIAL    LOVE,     GBATITUDK,     OBEDIENCE,     DISOBEDIENCE,     IRRITA- 
BILITY,   WILLFULNESS,    AND    DEFIANCE — ON     THE    SCREAMING 
OF   CHILDREN. 

It  is  a  natural  impulse  for  children  to  love  their  parents, 
for  they  are  their  greatest  benefactors.  The  children 
<mr.  them  their  life,  protection,  support  and  education. 
The  father,  especially,  provides  their  livelihood,  and  the 
mother  nurses  them  when  they  fall  sick.  If  the  parents 
are  what  they  ought  to  he,  they  will  he  loved  more  ten- 
derly by  their  children  than  any  other  person.  They 
should  share  their  love  in  equal  parts  with  all  their  chil- 
dren, bear  patiently  with  each  other,  and  not  expose  their 
faults  in  the  presence  of  the  children.  Teach  your 
children  that  there  is  no  moaner  creature  than  an  un- 
grateful child ! 

Where  the  intellect  of  the  child  is  not  sufficient  or 
efficacious,  that  of  the  parents  ought  to  supply  it,  and 
the  child  bo  made  to  subject  his  will  to  theirs,  that  is,  to 
obey.  Only  in  this  case  demand  obedience,  for  beyond 
it  human  right  ceases.  It  is  a  matter  of  course  that  I 
:nii  sneaking  only  of  the  inoraf  \\ill  of  parents.  It'  they 


256  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 


give  immoral  orders  they  don't  deserve  obedience.  A- 
the  intelligence  of  the  children  increases  and  their  char- 
acter is  firmer,  diminish  the  number  of  your  commands, 
and  finally  stop  them  altogether  when  the  pupil,  by  his 
reason,  has  come  to  full  age!  As  your  authority  rests 
upon  the  opinion  of  the  child  that  you  fan,  and  mil 
guide  him  reasonably,  convince  him  of  your  parental 
ability.  Let  him,  therefore,  1'eel  your  mental  superiority ; 
show  him  often  the  usefulness  of  your  orders,  especially 
after  the  action  is  accomplished;  consider  them  before 
they  are  given,  lest  you  be  obliged  to  recall  the  given 
ones.  Alteration  of  commands  is  at  home  as  injurious 
as  frequent  change  of  laws  in  the  State.  Command  with 
love.  L  -t  the  tone  in  which  you  require  due  obedience 
be  soft  and  heart-felt.  Remind  the  older  pupil  of  the 
benefits  conferred  upon  him,  not  with  the  stre-<  of  re- 
proach, but  with  consciousness.  Do  not  conceal  the  deep 
affliction  his  disobedience  causes  to  you.  Let  him  feel 
that  your  welfare  is  most  intimately  connected  with  his. 
Take  also  a  hearty  interest  in  the  good  actions  of  your 
children;  concerning  those  show  them  your  respect  and 
satisfaction,  and,  where  it  depends  upon  you,  there  let 
take  place,  also,  the  beneficial  consequences  of  obedience. 
If,  in  this  way,  tender,  mutual  love  unites  the  hearts  of 
parents  and  children,  obedience  is  secured. 

Commands  ought  to  be  few  in  number,  kind  in  their 
announcement,  beneficial  in  their  intention,  short  and  in- 
telligible in  expression. 

Take  great  care  that  they  are  carried  into  effect ;  let 
nothing  be  obtained  by  flattery,  still  less  by  defiance;  the 
t  res  pa--  be  relented  by  all  hr.'ans,  after  calm  statement 
of  the  culpability !  Yet  do  not  demand  military  obedi- 
ence. 


MORAL  CULTURE.  257 

But  what  is  to  be  done  if  children  are  cross,  or  even 
disobedient,  willful,  refractory  ?  There  are  cross  children 
who  resent  all  blame  with  pride;  or  who  suspect  evil  be- 
hind every  word  of  the  educator.  Weakness  of  intellect 
exists  most  frequently  in  their  nature.  Persuade  such 
children  that  they  are  wrong,  in  a  calm,  moderate  tone, 
without  noticing  particularly  their  crossness!  Refuse 
their  plea  with  firmness;  mildness  is  there  seldom  in  the 
right  place. 

Oftener  still  than  crossness,  willfulness  appears  in  the 
sphere  of  children.  This  is  a  scourge  of  parents,  espe- 
cially of  weak  mothers.  Therefore  I  shall  discuss  this 
subject  more  at  large.  First,  of  the  xrr<-<iiniiir/  of  chil- 
dren during  early  infancy !  A  celebrated  physician  (Dr. 
Soemmering,  in  Vienna)  says:  "According  to  my  obser- 
vations during  twenty  years,  the  unruly  screaming  is  a 
fault  for  which  positively  the  educator,  never  the  child, 
is  to  be  blamed,  or  it  is  a  disease.  I  know  few  things  so 
surely."  This  remark  is  instructive  for  every  mother. 
If  older  children  complain  of  little  pains,  push  the  com- 
plaint by  with  some  laughing  jest,  and  do  not  make  much 
fuss  of  it;  the  pain  is  soon  forgotten.  But  if  crying  is  a 
consequence  of  considerable  suffering,  try  your  appeasing, 
mild  voice !  Still,  if  screaming  occurs  yet  in  later  time, 
willfulness  is  mostly  its  cause.  In  this  case  do  not  care 
for  the  screamer,  but  remove  him  till  he  is  silent,  or  leave 
him  to  himself!  If  the  child  can  already  state  the  rea- 
son-; for  his  behavior,  ask  him  why  he  is  crying.  1L  is 
sometimes  quieted  by  reasonable  exhortation  ;  if  he  con- 
tinues crying,  order,  vigorously,  silence;  if  it  does  not 
ensue,  banish  him  to  a  place  where  the  screamer  does 
disturb  nobody.  Any  other  punishment  is  seldom  neces- 
17 


258  Tm-:  EDUCATING  MOTIIKI:. 


sary.  Corporal  chastisement  may  tame  malicious  cries. 
Let  the  willful  brawler  gain  nothing,  by  any  means ;  re- 
fuse him  flatly  what  he  demands  daringly.  There  is  ,-till 
a  screaming  for  a  suffered  loss.  It  is  sometimes  remedied 
by  a  comforting  discourse,  sometimes  by  charging  a  little 
commission,  sometimes  by  a  long  speech,  no  matter  on 
what  theme. 

For  the  management  of  the  other  cases  of  willfulness 
its  source  again  must  first  be  investigated.  This  is  found 
at  one  time  in  the  body,  at  another  in  the  intellect  of  the 
child,  at  another  in  the  management  of  the  educator; 
sometimes,  also,  it  is  the  effect  of  a  passion.  According 
to  experience,  sick  children  sometimes  are  willful.  Weak- 
minded  children  don't  mind  any  reasons,  even  if  they 
concern  their  benefit;  their  objections  are  not  seldom 
very  foolish.  Usually  the  parents  arc  themselves  the 
most  iu  fault.  As  long  tune  as  children  are  young, 
mothers  fulfill  all  their  wishes ;  thereby  they  lead  them 
methodically  to  willfulness,  and  render  their  charge  of 
education  themselves,  for  the  future,  more  difficult.  The 
injustice  and  severity  of  the  fathers,  also,  makes  children 
who  are  full  of  life  stubborn,  sometimes  refractory. 
The  fickleness  in  the  management  of  the  pupil  causes 
willfulness,  too.  If  the  child  is  in  company  with  play- 
mates, this  fault  takes  rise  often  in  pride,  greediness,  or  a 
hateful  mind.  The  last  cause  is  sometimes  even  at  the 
bottom  of  stubbornness  against  father  and  mother. 
These  sources  of  willfulness  must  be  first  turned  off; 
healing  is  then  easy  work.  Avoid,  in  particular,  to  yield, 
from  the  beginning!  Always  insist  firmly  upon  the  exe- 
cutioiv  of  your  orders!  Accustom  early  to  obedience! 
"Little  Conrad,"  says  Salzmanu,  iu  his  book  "Conrad 


MORAL  CULTURE. 


Kiefer"  "learned  till  his  fourth  year,  especially,  four  things : 
to  be  attentive,  to  obey,  to  be  compatible,  and  moderate." 
But  love  and  kindness  must  shine  forth  even  from  your 
punishing  earnest.  No  excited  irritability,  much  less 
vindictiveness,  on  the  part  of  parents!  It  sometimes 
docs  good,  also,  to  pay  no  attention  at  all  to  the  vents  of 
willfulness.  Address  the  pouting  child  yourself  first; 
set  him  a-speaking ;  ease  his  pressed  heart ;  your  antici- 
pating benevolence  will  affect  the  stubborn,  and  reconcile 
him  with  his  ill  luck.  Finally,  we  ought  to  beware  to 
change  the  willful  child  into  one  having  no  will  of  his 
own.  Ought  we  to  oppose  always  the  Avill  of  our  chil- 
dren? Firmness  of  character  and  independence  would 
be  undone  by  such  an  education;  defiance,  knavery, 
licentiousness  would,  necessarily,  succeed.  To  have  a 
will  of  his  own  (I  don't  mean  self-will),  is  a  precious 
jewel  in  life.  The  despotism  of  Governments  and  the 
servile  disposition  of  nations  take  origin,  most  part,  in 
the  domestic  government  parents  force  upon  their  chil- 
dren. When  and  in  which  way  recompenses  and  punish- 
ments, in  case  of  obedience  or  disobedience,  are  to  b*> 
used,  was  explained  in  a  former  letter.* 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

WRONG   TOUR   CHILDREN    AND  THEY  WILL  HATE   YOU. 

Little  Charlotte  had  gone  into  the  garden  of  her  fa- 
ther, where  there  were  plenty  of  violets.  "  Hurrah,"  she 
exclaimed  merrily,  "there  are  beautiful  flowers;  I  will 
pick  my  apron  full,  and  wind  a  little  bouquet  for  mamma." 
She  knelt  down  quickly,  and  picked  her  little  apron  full, 

*  See  twenty -first  letter. 


2fiO  Tin:  KIHTATJNC  MOTHER. 


then  she  sat  down  under  the  apple  tree,  and  finished  the 
bouquet.  "  Here  it  is,"  she  said,  "now  1  will  hurry  and 
tuk"  it  to  the  deai1  mamma.  I  low  she  will  rejoice. 
Thereby  I  shall  earn  some  sweet  kisses."  In  order  to 
make  the  joy  still  greater,  she  stole  into  the  kitchen,  took 
a  china  plate,  put  the  bouquet  on  it,  and  hastened  up- 
stairs in  leaps,  to  the  mother.  She  stumbled,  fell,  and — 
eraek !  the  plate  went  in  a  hundred  pieees,  and  the 
bouquet  was  Hung  far  off.  The  mother,  who  heard  in  the 
room  the  crash,  immediately  sprang  out  of  the  door,  and 
seeing  the  broken  plato,  ran  back,  got  a  rod,  and  without 
inquiring  Avhat  the  child  was  intending  to  do  with  the 
plate,  she  switched  her  furiously.  Charlotte  was  half 
dead,  frightened  by  the  fall,  the  broken  plate,  and  the 
rod,  and  unable  to  utter  a  word  save,  "  Dear  mamma — 
dear  mamma."  But  it  was  all  for  nothing.  "  You  littU' 
brute,"  the  mother  sahl,  "to  break  such  a  nice  plate!" 

and  gave .    Charlotte  was  unable,  for  a  longtime,  to 

forget  the  unrighteous  punishment  heaped  upon  her,  and 
she  resolved  in  her  little  heart  never  again  to  weave  a 
bouquet  for  her  mother. 

Louie  received  from  her  godmother,  as  a  Christina 
gift,  a  little  salver  filled  up  with  tin  toys.  Her  cup  of  joy 
was  full,  and  she  proceeded,  immediately,  to  arrange  th-> 
precious  toys  in  proper  order.  If  other  children  paid 
her  a  visit,  she  gave  them,  usually,  a  little  treat,  at  which 
all  dishes,  plates,  and  candlesticks  standing  on  the  sal- 
ver  were  used.  As  soon-  as  the  visitors  left,  each  wa 
cleaned  and  restored  to  its  former  place.  Her  godmother 
was  much  pleased,  because  she  considered  it  as  a  mean; 
to  accustom  the  child  early  to  order.  But  the  happi- 
ness did  not  last  a  <rreat  while.  On  one  occasion, 


C'n/ruRE.  261 


Willy,  her  lit  le  brother,  stretched  his  hand  for  the  tin 
t<>vs,  and  the  lather  gave  him,  right  away,  a  little  dish. 
Then  he  stretched  again,  and  received,  also,  a  little  plate. 
Both  toys  were  bent  and  spoiled  in  a  moment.  When 
Charlotte  returned,  and  saw  the  damage  her  brother  had 
done,.  tears  filled  her  eyes  ;  but  as  she  was  informed  that 
the  i'at  her  had  given  the  toys  to  him,  she  bore  her  sor- 
row patiently.  The  next  day  the  mischief  was  repeated, 
and  two  candlesticks  were  spoiled  by  being  bent.  Then 
Charlotte  could  not  stand  it  more  ;  she  ran,  most  miser- 
able, to  her  lather,  saying,  "Dear  father,  do  you  know 
that  Willy  spoils  my  nice  toys?"  "Silly  girl,"  was  his 
answer,  "what's  that  to  you?  I  can  do  with  your 
toys  what  I  please."  Charlotte  became  silent.  In  less 
than  four  weeks  her  entire  joy  lay  buried  in  the  sweep- 
ings. She  endured  her  pain,  but  conceived  such  a  grudge 
against,  her  father  that  she  could  not  look  friendly  to  him 
for  a  long  time. 

HOW    TO   TEACH    CHILDREN    DISOBEDIENCE. 

GIVE   MANY   ORDERS   WITHOUT   INQUIRING   HOW  THEY    WERE   EX- 
ECUTED ;   THREATEN    ALWAYS    WITHOUT    FULFILLING    YOUR 
THREATS,    ANL'    YOU    WILL   BE    SOON   THE  LAUGHING- 
STOCK  OF   YOUR   BOYS. 

If  you  had  judged  from  the  orders  Mrs.  Bridget  used 
to  give  to  her  children,  you  would  have  believed  that  her 
family  was  a  model  of  order.  "  You,  Christina,  shall 
have  the  inspection  of  the  bedroom,  put  it  in  order  every 
morning,  hang  your  dresses  into  this  wardrobe,  put  the 
linen  into  this,  drawer.  Follow  these  directions.  And 
you,  William,  shall  take  care  that  the  glasses  be  washed. 
and  the  knives  cleaned.  At  ten  and  four  o'clock  you 
shall  always  inquire  if  I  have  some  errands  for  you. 


262  THE  EDTTCATIM;  MOTHER. 

Mind  it!"  In  this  manner  she  spoke  every  day,  :md 
gave  new  commands  every  day  without  inquiring  liow 
the  former  ones  were  obeyed.  Christina  did  not  ar- 
range the  bedroom;  she  threw  her  dresses  and  linen  just 
where  she  undressed.  William  did  neither  wash  the  gl;i-.~- 
nor  clean  the  knives ;  at  ten  and  four  o'clock  he  was 
always  on  the  play-ground.  At  last,  things  went  on  so 
far  that  the  children  turned  round  and  laughed,  if  the 
mother  would  give  them  new  commands. 

MORALIZE  FREQUENTLY  WITH   CHILDREN. 

If  Mrs.  Ursula  was  with  her  children,  she  liked  noth- 
ing better  than  to  preach,  saying,  usually  :  "  Much  helps 
much.  Well,  Cordelia,  be  gentle  to-day ;  don't  howl, 
don't  quarrel.  If  your  brothers  and  sisters  do  you  some 
harm,  you  can  tell  me.  If  visitors  come  to  see  me,  you 
must  be  polite,  and  make  a  courtesy.  And,  I  tell  you, 
do  not  stroll  in  the  street.  You  may  go  in  the  street,  if 
you  please,  but  you  must  not  always  be  there.  And  at 
table  be  polite,  and  don't  cram  the  mouth  too  full.  Von 
can  cat  slowly,  so  nothing  escapes  you.  If  the  Grangers 
come,  and  you  are  polite,  they  will  praise  you,  and  say, 
'  Truly,  Cordelia  is  a  very  gentle  lady.'  How  do  you 
stay  here?  Can  you  not  keep  the  head  upright,  like  me? 
You  learn  that  awkward  posture  from  the  maid-servant. 
Mind  it,  you  shall  not  go  into  her  room  again  [here  she 
Mniek  the  table  with  her  fist],  not  once,  I  tell  you.  You 
will  certainly  turn  such  a  dolt  as  she  is.  But  the 
mother  may  consume  her  lungs,  you  still  remain  as  you 
are.  You  did  not  remove  the  foul  linen;  is  it  not  so? 
There !  But  I  will  not  rest  myself  until  I  make  order ! " 
(Again  a  stroke  on  the  table.)  That  is  a  specimen  of 
the  sermons  Mrs.  Ursula  u>ed  to  preach,  daily,  to  her 


MORAL  CULTURE.  263 


children.  It  is  observed  that  the  strongest  medicine,  by 
degrees,  loses  its  effects.  Thus  the  sermons  of  Mrs.  Ur- 
sula gradually  fell  upon  heedless  ears.  They  were  re- 
peated too  often. 

HOW   TO   RENDER   CHILDREN   WILLFUL. 
DO   WHATEVER  THEY  DEMAND. 

Mr.  Curt  and  his  wife  had  lived  ten  years  childless. 
Finally,  to  their  joy,  little  Harry  was  born.  His  parents 
believed  themselves  obliged  to  do  everything  the  dear 
child  demanded.  If  he  reached  forth  for  something,  it 
must  be  brought.  They  fetched  him  a  dog  and  a  cat, 
they  let  him  taste  everything,  they  passed  him  even  a 
knife  and  fork,  after  having  it  sheathed.  Three  servant- 
girls  were  discharged  because  the  child  disliked  them. 
Harry  began  now  to  walk,  but  not  where  the  mother  or 
servant  would  lead  him,  but  where  he  pleased.  Thus  he 
wandered  in  an  hour  from  the  room,  through  the  house, 
yard,  garden,  and  from  there  again  up  all  flights.  On  one 
occasion  the  cellar  door  was  open.  Harry  wanted  straight 
to  enter,  and  as  the  servant  restrained  him  he  commenced 
terrible  roaring.  "  Peace,"  said  the  girl,  "  the  cellar  is 
dark  ;  come,  we  will  go  to  the  chickens."  But  nothing 
availed.  Harry  cried  and  stamped.  The  anxious  mother 
sprang  near.  "  What  is  the  matter  ?"  she  asked.  "Noth- 
ing, Mrs.  Curt,  only  Harry  will  go  into  the  cellar;  see 
how  he  behaves.  To  be  sure,  I  cannot  hold  him  more." 
"  Let  me  have  the  child.  Light  the  candle !  Keep  still, 
Harry!  You  will  go  into  the  cellar?  All  right!" 
They  went  down  into  it,  the  maid  going  in  front  with  the 
candle.  In  the  midst  of  the  descent,  Harry  took  a 
fancy  to  return.  Ho  turned  around;  mother  anil  IIKIH! 


Tin:  Fi>r<  ATIV.  Monrr.n. 

turned,  also,  ami  returned  into  the-  room.  It',  at  taMe, 
they  helped  him  to  something,  he  usually  slid.  "  I  don't 
like  this."  "What,  then,  my  dear  child?"  "I  want 
some  of  this  piece."  "Here,  Harry,  take  it.  You  don't 
relish  it,  either?  For  what  have  you  appetite?"  "  For 
a  pastry.''  "There  is  no  pastry.  IV-  satisfied  :  to-mor- 
ruw  I  will  hake  a  nice  little  chicken."  "But  I  want 
now  pastry."  "  AVhat  must  we  do  with  the  child? 
Catherine,  there  is  money;  get  the  child  some  pastry.  I- 
it  now  right?"  "Well,  I  am  thirsty!"  -The  poor 
child!  Do  you  like  beer  or  wine?"  "I  like  coffee." 
"  Coffee  is  not  ready.  Quick,  Catherine,  kindle  the  fire  for 
coffee!  Peace!  Peace!"  "Does  coffee  come  soon?" 
"  Soon,  soon."  "  I  don't  want  coffee  ;  want  l>eer,  mamma, 
beer."  "  Here  is  beer."  "  That'*  not  my  ^rla—  .  I  want  my 
gla.~s."  "Sn  how  smart  the  child  is.  He  knows,  di- 
rectly, that  it  is  not  his  glass.  Here,  Harry,  hen-is  your 
."  Things  continued  so,  as  at  table.  Clothing, 
bedroom,  maid-servants,  companies,  everything  had  to  he 
selected  according  to  his  fancy.  Now  he  is  grown  up, 
and,  generally,  they  call  him  "the  willful  Curt."  He 
has  changed  residence  many  times  ;  he  re-papers  r 
every  year;  he  killed  one  wife  by  tormenting  her,  and 
the  other  will  not  live  long.  He  engages  every 
four  to  six  servants,  and  he,  himself,  will  hardly  live 
two  years  more.  He  is  discontented  with  the  whole 
world,  aud  therefore  dying  from  vexation. 

TONY,  TIIF.    SPOILED    CHILD.* 

[3/r.  7/)//v//-/7>7/,  .  .!/,•>.  If'n-'l'-'i.<ff>  .     At  (he  end  of  thescene, 


•From    Oliver  Goldsmith's  comedy,    "She  Stoope  to  Conquer."    Act  I. 
Scene  I. 


(Vi.Triu-:.  265 


Mr*.  Jlurdnustle.  1  was  but  twenty  when  I  \vas  brought 
to  bed  of  Tony,  that  I  had  by  Mr.  Lumpkin,  my  first  hus- 
band ;  and  he  is  not  come  to  years  of  discretion,  yet. 

Mr.  Hardcaxtle.  Nor  ever  will,  I  dare  answer  for  him. 
Ay,  yon  have  taught  him  finely  ! 

Mr*.  JL  No  matter,  Tony  Lumpkin  has  a  good  fort- 
une. My  son  is  not  to  live  by  his  learning.  I  don't 
think  a  boy  wants  much  learning,  to  spend  fifteen  hun- 
dred a  year. 

Mr.  H.  Learning,  quotha  !  a  mere  composition  of 
tricks  and  mischief. 

Mr*.  IF.  Humor,  my  dear,  nothing  but  humor.  Come, 
Mr.  Ilardcastle,  you  must  allow  the  boy  a  little  humor. 

Mr.  H.  I'd  sooner  allow  him  a  horse-pond.  If  burn- 
ing the  footman's  shoes,  frightening  the  maids,  and  wor- 
rying the  kittens,  be  humor,  he  has  it.  It  was  but  yes- 
terday  he  fastened  my  wig  to  the  back  of  my  chair,  and 
when  I  went  to  make  a  bow,  I  popped  my  bald  head  in 
Mrs.  Frizzle's  face. 

Mr*.  H.  And  am  I  to  blame?  The  poor  boy  \\as 
always  too  sickly  to  do  any  good.  A  school  would  be 
his  death.  When  he  comes  to  be  a  little  stronger,  who 
knows  what  a  year  or  two's  Latin  may  do  for  him? 

Mr.  H.  Latin  for  him  !  A  cat  and  fiddle  !  No,  no, 
the  alehouse  and  the  stable  are  the  only  schools  he'll 
ever  go  to. 

Mr*.  If.  Well,  we  must  not  snub  the  poor  boy  now, 
for  I  believe  we  shan't  have  him  long  among  us.  Any- 
body that  looks  in  his  face  may  see  he's  consumptive. 

Mr.  H.  Ay,  if  growing  too  fat  be  one  of  the  symp- 
toms. 

Mr*.  H.  He  coughs,  sometimes. 


266  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

Mr.  H.  Yes,  when  his  liquor  goes  the  wrong  way. 

.l/y>.  H.   \  am  actually  afraid  of  his  lungs. 

Mr.  H.  And,  truly,  so  am  I,  for  he  sometimes  wh<.">|>- 
like  a  speaking  trumpet.  [Tony  hallooing  behind  the 
scenes].  Oh,  there  he  goes,  a  very  consumptive  figure, 
truly. 

[Enter  Tony,  crossing  the  stagr^] 

Mrs.  H.  Tony,  where  rre  you  going,  my  charmer? 
Won't  you  give  papa  and  I  a  little  of  your  company, 
lovey  ? 

Tony.  I'm  in  haste;  mother,  I  cannot  stay. 

Mrs.  H.  You  shan't  venture  out  this  raw  evening, 
my  dear,  you  look  most  shocking. 

T.  I  can't  stay,  I  tell  you.  The  Three  Pigeons  ex- 
pects me  down  every  moment.  There's  some  fun  going 
forward. 

Mr.  H.  Ay,  the  alehouse,  the  old  place.     I  thought  so. 

Mrs.  H.  A  low,  paltry  set  of  fellows. 

T.  Not  so  low,  neither.  There's  Dick  Muggins,  the 
exciseman;  Jack  Slang,  the  horse  doctor;  little  Aniin- 
adab,  that  grinds  the  music-box,  and  Tom  Twist,  that 
spins  the  pewter  platter. 

Mr*.  H.  Pray,  my  dear,  disappoint  them  for  one  night, 
at  least. 

T.  As  for  disappointing  them,  I  should  not  so  much 
mind  ;  Init  I  can't  abide  to  disappoint  myself. 

Mrs.  H.  [detaining  him]  You  shan't  go. 

T.  I  will,  I  tell  you. 

Mrs.  H.  I  say  you  shan't. 

T.  We'll  see  which  is  the  strongest,  you  or  I. 

[exit,  hauling  her  out. 

Mr.  H.  [aloneJ]  Ay,  there  goes  a  pair  that  only 
spoil  each  other. 


.    Cn.TlTRE.  267 


I  UK    UNGRATEFUL   CHILD. 

Madame  Horner  was  the  wife  of  Mr.  Homer,  coun- 
cillor of  the  Russian  Court,  whom  Alexander  I.  had  ap- 
pointed astronomer  of  an  exploring  expedition.  She  was 
the  most  beneficent  lady  in  Ziirich.  A  long  table  in  her 
room  was,  every  year  at  Christmas,  literally  covered  with 
presents  for  the  hundreds  of  her  godchildren.  (She 
was  also  godmother  of  one  of  my  sous.)  On  one  of 
them,  a  poor  boy,  she  lavished  her  benefits  from  the  time 
of  his  birth  till  he  was  grown  up.  But  he  degenerated, 
and  was  ungrateful.  In  a  hot  summer  night,  when  the 
husband  of  Madame  Horner  was  dead,  and  the  widow- 
lived  alone  in  her  house,  she  left  a  window  open,  and 
went  to  rest.  At  midnight  the  floor  of  the  adjoining 
room  crackled  under  the  footsteps  of  a  man.  She  awoke 
by  the  sudden  noise,  and  the  man  stood  before  her  eyes, 
bending  on  her  face.  Think  of  the  terror  of  the  lady! 
She  cried  for  help,  and  the  servant-girl,  who  slept  in  an- 
other room,  hurried  to  her  assistance.  Meanwhile,  the 
scoundrel  had  escaped  through  the  open  window,  where 
they  found  a  ladder  leaning  against  the  wall.  Madame 
Horner  gave  me  the  account  of  the  accident  herself. 
And  who  was  the  burglar?  The  same  man  whom  she 
had,  since  his  childhood,  so  generously  supported.  He 
left  Zurich  immediately,  and,  after  some  time,  was  exe- 
cuted in  Bern,  with  the  guillotine,  having  there  commit- 
ted robbery  and  murder.  There  is  no  meaner  creature 
than  an  ungrateful  child. 

HOW  A  BKOTHEK   BECOMES  A    FATHER.* 

There  were,  in  the  Luxembourg  garden,  at  Paris,  two 

•Victor  Hugo  in  "  Lea  Miserables,"  ch.  241. 


268  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

lads,  holding  each  others  hand.  One  might  he  seven, 
the  other  live  years  of  age.  As  they  \vere  wet  through 
with  the  rain,  they  walked  along  sunshiny  paths.  The 
elder  led  the  younger;  both  were  in  rags,  and  pale,  and 
they  looked  like  wild  birds.  Their  wieked  parents  had 
deserted  the  poor  children.  The  younger  repeated  every 
now  and  then,  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  am  hungry,  very  hun- 
gry." The  elder,  who  had  already  a  protecting  air,  led 
his  brother  with  the  left  hand,  and  had  a  switch  in  his 
right. 

Almost  simultaneously  with  the  boys,  another  couple 
approached  the  basin,  where  two  swans  were  swimming. 
It  was  a  father  with  his  son.  The  younger  of  the  two 
had  a  cake  in  his  hand.  "  I  am  not  longer  hungry,"  said 
the  boy.  "  You  need  not  be  hungry  to  eat  a  cake,"  an- 
swered the  father.  "  I  am  tired  of  cake.  It  is  so  filling." 
"Don't  you  want  any  more?"  "No."  "Throw  it  to 
those  swans."  The  boy  hesitated^  for  if  he  did  not  want 
any  more  cake,  that  was  .no  reason  to  give  it  away.  The 
father  continued  :  "Be  humane;  you  ought  to  have  pity 
on  animals."  And,  taking  the  cake  from  his  son,  he 
threw  it  into  the  basin,  when  it  fell  rather  near  the  bank. 
He  made  signs  to  the  swans,  who  were  some  distance  off, 
and  they  catne  toward  the  cake  slowly. 

At  this  moment  the  distant  tumult  of  drums,  shouts, 
platoon  fires,  tocsin  and  cannon  was  heard.  It  was  the 
alarm  of  the  insurrection  on  the  sixth  of  June,  1832. 
"Let  us  go  home,"  the  father  said, "  they  are  attacking 
the  Tuileries."  He  seized  his  son's  hand,  and  led  him 
away.  The  two  little  vagabonds  had,  in  the  meanwhile, 
approached  the  cake  simultaneous ly  with  the  swans.  It 
was  floating  on  the  water ;  the  small  boy  looked  at  the 


MORAL  CULTURE.  260 

cake,  the  other  looked  at  the  citizen  who  was  going  off. 
When  father  and  son  \vere  no  longer  in  sight,  the  elder 
l)ov  hurriedly  lay  down  full  ^length  on  the  bank  of  the 
basin,  and  holding  by  his  left  hand,  while  bending  over 
tlic  water  till  he  all  but  fell  in,  he  stretched  out  his  switch 
toward  the  cake  with  the  other.  The  swans,  seeing  the 
enemy,  hastened  up,  and  in  hastening,  made  a  chest  effort, 
useful  to  the  little  fisher;  the  water  flowed  back  in  front 
of  the  swans,  and  one  of  the  gentle,  concentric  undula- 
tions gently  impelled  the  cake  toward  the  boy's  switch. 
When  the  swans  got  up,  the  stick  was  touching  the  cake, 
and  the  lad  gave  a  quick  blow,  startled  the  swans,  seized 
the  cake,  and  got  up.  The  cake  was  soaking,  but  they 
were  hungry  and  thirsty.  The  elder  boy  divided  the  cake 
into  two  parts,  a  large  and  a  small  one,'  kept  the  small 
one  for  himself,  and  gave  the  larger  piece  to  his  brother 


TWENTY-NINTH  LETTER. 

SKAKAL    LOVE — C11OICK    OF    A    SPOUSE. 

I  conclude  my  views  on  the  culture  of  moral  charac- 
ter with  the  last  kind  of  love,  the  love  of  sex,  or  love 
in  the  prop.  ;•  >cnse  of  the  word.  Love  puts  "the  fin- 
ishing touch"  toman.  He  who  can  restrain  his  heart 
from  its  soft  feelings,  does  not  know  the  heaven  of  human 
life,  and  is  also,  for  the  most  part,  unworthy  to  know  it. 
Tlicvefore,  a  sensible  mother  is  far  from  trying  to  pre- 
vent her  children,  in  the  years  of  sexual  maturity,  from 
love;  her  care  is  only  to  observe  and  lead  it  in  a  projier 
channel. 

For  this  end,  dear  friend,  hinder  the  precocity,  so 
common  in  our  century,  of  the  most  beneficial  impulse. 
Keep  all  its  causes  afar ;  occasion  and  use  whatever  can 


270  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 


help  to  impede  it,  in  particular :  hardening  of  the  body, 
permanent  occupation  of  the  mind  with  useful  object?, 
intercourse  with  moral  persons  of  sober  thinking,  taming 
of  the  imagination,  creation  of  noble,  sublime  feelings 
and  of  the  sense  of  shame,  moral  culture,  and  continual 
observation  of  the  pupil.  In  schools  and  seminaries  the 
passionate  friendships  of  youth  require  attention. 

If,  then,  the  years  of  maturity,  according  to  nature's 
law,  arrive,  instruction  should  be  given  concerning  the 
real  and  imaginary  enjoyments  of  marriage,  the  conse- 
quences and  disgrace  of  every  trespass  on  chastity,  the 
importance  and  danger  of  violation  of  certain  parts  <>!' 
the  body,  finally,  the  mystery  of  the  creation  of  man. 
The  father  imparts  this  instruction  to  the  sons,  the  mother 
to  the  daughters.  It  must  be  imparted  with  the  serious 
aim  to  guard  the  welfare  of  the  dear  child  from  all 
emergencies.  If  now  the  moment  appears  in  which  the 
sweet  charm  of  love  captivates  the  innocent  hearts,  it 
must  be  to  the  parents  of  the  greatest  consequence  to 
learn  first  the  sweet  secret  of  their  children.  Of  course, 
the  son  will  rather  intrust  it  to  the  father,  the  daughter 
to  the  mother.  The  intercourse  of  the  lovers,  then, 
should  be  unconcealed ;  the  parents,  especially  the  moth- 
ers, have  to  redouble  their  watchfulness.  Don't  suffer 
frivolous  dalliance  with  love's  sacred  nature!  If  the 
young  people  are  in  earnest  with  their  feelings  they  will 
prove  it  by  added  diligence,  by  higher  exertions  for 
mental  and  moral  culture,  and  by  economical  sense.  Ac- 
quire, therefore,  knowledge  of  the  moral  qualities  of  the 
person  who  is  loved  by  your  child ;  observe  him  or  her 
carefully ;  make  exact  inquiries  with  regard  to  his  or  her 
relations  of  life. 


MORAL  CULTURE.  271 

If  you  ask  me  which  considerations,  in  the  selection 
of  your  children-iu-law,  must  direct  you,  I  advise  you, 
let  not  religious  confession,  rank,  and  riches  decide  it ;  of 
most  importance  are,  morality,  knowledge  of  a  calling, 
sufficient  living,  and,  above  all,  true  love.  Where  these 
conditions  exist,  grant  your  consent  without  hesitation. 
The  young  persons  may  perform  their  union  ;  their  mar- 
riage is  concluded  in  Heaven.  Wedlocks  of  rank,  diplo- 
matic, and  speculative  marriages  are  rarely  happy ;  a 
truth  which,  though  so  often  in  earnest  and  joke  ex- 
pressed, is  not  the  less  so  rarely  minded.  If  you  will 
not  meddle  uncalled  for  with  the  domestic  affairs  of 
the  young  married  couple,  ;rou  will  yet  be  their  welcome 
conductors  and  advisers.  *3y  such  a  management  the 
strong  instinct  of  love  will  exert  a  beneficial  influence 
upon  the  whole  concern  of  education.  Nature  will  fin- 
ish what  yon  wisely  commenced.  In  order  to  hinder  the 
abuse  of  the  sexual  impulse,  regard,  especially,  the  hints 
which  at  the  beginning  of  the  letter  were  given. 


ILLUSTRATION. 

MARGARET,    IN    "FAtTST."* 
SCENE   XVI. 

[Margaret's  garden.     Margaret,  FaustJ] 

Faust  Ah,  shall  there  never  be 

A  quiet  hour,  to  see  us  fondly  plighted, 
With  breast  to  breast,  and  soul  to  soul  united  ? 

Margaret.  Ah,  if  I  only  slept  alone  ! 
I'd  draw  the  bolts  to-night,  for  thy  desire, 
But  mother's  sleep  so  light  has  grown, 
And  if  we  were  discovered  by  her, 

*  Faust,  a  tragedy  by  W.  Goethe,  translated  by  Bayard  Taylor,  Boston. 


272  THE  Enrr.m\<;  MOTHER. 


'Twould  be  my  death  upon  the  spot. 

Faust.  Thou  angel,  fear  it  not ! 
Here  is  a  phial ;  in  her  drink 
But  three  drops  of  it  measure, 
And  deepest  sleep  will  on  her  senses  sink. 

M<n-</.   What  would  I  not,  to  give  thee  pleasure? 
It  will  not  harm  her,  when  one  tries  it? 

Fount.  If  'twould,  my  love,  would  I  advise  it? 

Marg.  Ah,  dearest  man,  if  but  thy  face  I  see, 
I  know  not  what  compels  me  to  thy  will; 
So  much  have  I  already  done  for  thee 
That  scarcely  more  is  left  me  to  fulfill. 

[exit. 

LAST   SCENE. 

[Dungeon.~\ 

Fau*t.  [with  a  bunch  of  key*  and  a  lamp  before  an 
A  shudder,  long  unfelt,  comes  o'er  me ;  [iron  door 

Mankind's  collected  woe  o'erwhelms  me  ;  here 
She  dwells  within  the  dark,  dam])  walls  before  me, 
And  all  her  crime  was  a  delusion  dear. 
What !  I  delay  to  free  her, 
On !  my  shrinking  but  lingers  death  more  near, 

[He  grasp*  the  lock,  unloekingJ] 
She  does  not  dream  her  lover  listens  near, 
That  he  the  rattling  chain,  the  rustling  straw,  can  hear. 
[He  e)iter*.~\ 

Mary,  [hiding  herself  on  flic  pallet] 
Woe!  woe!     They  come.     O  death  01  bitterness  1 

Faust,  [whieperwtg] 
Hush !  hush !     The  hour  is  come  that  frees  thee. 

Mmy.  [tkr&tffing  hrw/f  brfnrr  Ii!m~\ 
Art  thou  a  man,  then  pity  my  distress! 

Faust.  Thy  cries  will  wake  the  guards,  and  they  will 
seize  thee ! 

[He  takes  hold  of  the  fetters  to  unlock  them.] 

.   [on  IHT  kiict'x] 
Who,  headsman,  unto  thee  such  power 


MORAL  CULTURE.  273 

Over  me  could  give  ? 

Thou'rt  come  for  me  at  midnight  hour : 

Have  mercy  on  me,  let  me  live ! 

Is't  not  enough  when  morning  chime  has  rung? 

[She  rises .] 

And  I  am  yet  so  young,  so  young ! 
And  now  death  comes,  and  ruin ! 
I,  too,  was  fair,  and  that  was  my  undoing. 
My  love  was  near,  but  now  he's  far. 
Torn  lies  the  wreath,  scattered  the  blossoms  are. 
Sci/e  me  not  thus  so  violently !  . 

Spare  me!     What  have  I  done  to  thee? 
Let  me  not  vainly  entreat  thee! 
I  never  chanced  in  all  my  days  to  meet  thee! 

1'inixt.  Shall  I  outlive  this  misery? 

Mary.  Now  am  1  wholly  in  thy  might, 
But  let  me  suckle,  first,  uiy  baby! 
1  blessed  it  all  this  livelong  night; 
They  took't  away,  to  vex  me,  may  be, 
And  now  they  say  1  killed  the  child  outright. 
And  never  shall  I  be  glad  again. 
They  sing  songs  about  me!  'tis  bad  of  the  folk  to  do  it! 

Wiiixf.  [Jailing upon  Msknees] 
Here  lieth  one  who  loves  thee  ever, 
The  thralldom  of  thy  woe  to  sever. 

Mary,  [flinyiny  herself  beside  him.'] 

0  let  us  kneel,  and  call  the  saints  to  hide  us! 
Faitst  [loud].  Margaret!  Margaret! 
Mary,  [attentively  listening] 

That  was  the  voice  of  my  lover ! 

[She  xjirhiy*  to  her  feet,  the  fetters  fall  off^\ 
\  am  free!    No  one  shall  enthrall  me. 
To  his  neck  will  I  fly, 
On  his  bosom  lie! 

On  the  threshold  he  stood,  and  Margaret!  calling, 
Midst  of  hell's  bowling  and  noises  appalling, 
Midst  of  the  wrathful,  infernal  derision, 

1  knew  the  sweet  sound  of  the  voice  of  the  vision. 

18 


274  Tin:  EDUCATING  M<>TIII:I:. 


Faust.  'Tis  I. 

Mary.  'Tis  thou!  O,  say  it  once  again  ! 

[Clasping  //////] 

'Tis  he  !    'tis  he  !    Where  now  is  all  my  pain  ? 
The  anguish  of  the  dungeon,  and  the  chain? 
'Tis  thou  !    Thou  comest  to  save  me, 
And  I  am  saved  !  — 
Again  the  street  I  see 
Where  first  I  looked  on  thee  ; 
And  the  garden,  brightly  blooming, 
When  I  and  Martha  wait  thy  coming. 

Fau*t.  [t&ruggling  to  leave]. 
Come  !  come  with  me  ! 

Mary.  Delay,  thou  ! 

So  fain  I  stay,  when  thou  delayest  ! 


Faust.  Away,  now  ! 
If  longer  here  thou  stayest, 
We  shall  be  made  to  dearly  rue  it. 

Murij.  Kiss  me  !  —  -ran'st  no  longer  doit? 
My  friend,  so  short,  a  time  thou'rt  missing, 
And  hast  unlearned  thy  kissing? 
Why  is  my  heart  so  anxious,  on  thy  breast? 
Where  once  a  heaven  thy  glances  did  create  me, 
A  heaven  thy  loving  words  expressed, 
And  thou  did'st  kiss,  as  thou  would'st  suffocate  me  — 
Kiss  me  ! 
Or  I'll  kiss  thee  ! 

[tihe  embraces  him.] 
Ah,  woe  !  thy  lips  are  chill. 
And  still. 

How  changed  in  fashion 
Thy  passion  ! 
\\lio  has  done  me  this? 

[N/c  •  tin-iixtiiriii/  from  liiin.~] 

Faust.  Come,  follow  me!    My  darling,  be  more  bold; 
I'll  clasp  thcc,  MIOII,  with  warmth  a  thousand-fold  ; 
But  follow  now!     'Tis  all  I  bci;  of  thee. 


MORAL  CULTURE.  27") 


Mary.  And  is  it  thou  ?  thou,  surely,  certainly  ? 

Faust.  'Tis  I !   Come  on  ! 

M«rg.  Thou  wilt  unloose  my  chain, 
And  in  thy  lap  will  take  me  once  again  ? 
How  comes  it  that  thou  dost  not  shrink  from  me  ? 
Say,  dost  thou  know,  my  friend,  whom  thou  mak'st  free  ? 

Faust.  Come !   come !  the  night  already  vanisheth. 

Marg.  My  mother  have  I  put  to  death  ; 
I've  drowned  the  baby  born  to  thee. 
Was  it  not  given  to  thee  and  me  ? 
Thee,  too !  'Tis  thou !   It  scarcely  true  doth  seem — 
Give  me  thy  hand  ! — But,  ah,  'tis  wet ! 
Why,  wipe  it  off!    Methinks  that  yet 
There's  blood  thereon. 
Ah,  God  !  what  hast  thou  done  ?  * 
Nay,  sheathe  thy  sword  at  last ! 
J)o  not  affray  me  ! 

Faust  0,  let  the  past  be  past ! 
Thy  words  will  slay  me ! 

Marg.  Thou  goest  away !  O,  Henry,  if  I  could  go ! 

[door. 

Faust.  Thou  canst !   Just  will   it !   Open   stands   the 

Mary.  I  dare  not  go  ;  there  is  no  hope  any  more. 
Why  should  I  fly  ?  They'll  still  my  steps  waylay ! 
It  is  so  wretched,  forced  to  beg  my  living, 
And  a  bad  conscience  sharper  misery  giving ! 
It  is  so  wretched,  to  be  strange,  forsaken, 
And  I'd  still  be  followed  and  taken ! 

Fauvt.  I'll  stay  with  thee. 

Marg.  Be  quick  !  be  quick  ! 

thy  {X'nshing  child  ! 
Away!    Follow  the  ridge 
Up  by  the  brook, 
Over  the  bridge, 
Into  the  wood, 
To  the  left,  where  the  plank  is  placed 

*Faust  killed,  in  a  brawl,  Margaret's  brother. 


•J7<'>  THE  EDUCATING  Moi; 

In  the  pool! 
Sri/e  it  in  haste! 
Tis  trying  to  rise, 
'Tis  struggling  still  ! 
Save  it !  save  it! 

l-'<ui*t.  Kecall  thy  wandering  will ! 
One,  step,  and  thou  art  free  at  last ! — 
Here  words  and  prayers  are  nothing  worth; 
I'll  venture,  then,  to  hear  thee  forth. 

Marg.  No — let  me  go !  I'll  suffer  no  force ! 
Grasp  me  not  so  murderously ! 
I've  done,  else,  all  things  for  the  love  of  thee. 
The  day  dawns  ;  dearest!  dean  M  ! 

[for  me ! 

Day  ?    Yes,  the  day  comes, — t  he  last  day  In 
M\   wedding  day  it  was  to  lie! 
Tell  no  one  thou  hast  lieeu  with  Margaret] 
Woe  for  my  garland  !    The  chances 

'.ver — 'tis  all  in  vain  ! 
We  shall  meet  once  again, 
But  not  at  the  dances! 

The  crowd  is  thronging,  no  word  is  spoken  : 
The  square  below 
And  the  streets  overflow ; 
The  death-bell  tolls,  the  wand  is  broken. 
lam  seized,  and  bound,  and  delivered — 
Shoved  to  the  block — they  give  the  sign  ! 
Now  over  each  neck  has  quivered 
The  blade  that  is  quivering  over  mine  ; 
Dumb  lies  the  world  like  the  grave! 

I<'ttt<«f.   ()  had  I  ne'er  been  born! 

Mephigtopkelea.  [ii/ijtrai-*  <>ntxi<li'~] 
Off!  or  you're  lost  ere  morn. 
Useless  talking,  delaying  and  praying! 
My  horses  are  neighing; 
The  morning  twilight  is  near. 

M'lnj.    What  ri.-e.-  up  from  the  threshold  her-- ''. 
He !  he !  suffer  him  not ! 


MORAL  CULTURE.  277 


What  does  he  want  in  this  holy  spot? 
1  It-  seeks  me! 

Faust.  Thou  shalt  live. 

Marg.  Judgment  of  God !  myself,  to  thee,  I  give. 

Mephist.  [to  FitHxf] 
<  'omo!  or  I'll  leave  her  in  the  lurch,  and  thee! 

Marg.  Thine  am  I,  father  !  rescue  me ! 
Ye  angels,  holy  cohorts,  guard  me, 
Camp  around,  and  from  evil  ward  rne  ! 
Henry !  I  shudder  to  think  of  thee. 

Mephiit.  She  is  judged! 

Voice,  [from  above] 

She  is  saved ! 

Mephbst.  [to  Faust]  Hither  to  me ! 

\tie  disappears  with  Faust."] 

Voice,  [from  within,  dying  away] 
Henry!  Henry! 

[THE  END.] 


THE   BETROTIIMENT. 


Here  the  -door  was  open'd.  The  handsome  couple  ap- 
pearM  there, 

And  the  friends  were  amazed,  the  loving  parents  aston- 
ish'd 

At  the  form  of  the  bride,  the  form  of  the  bridegroom 
resembling. 

Yes !  the  door  appear'd  too  small  to  admit  the  tall  figures 

Which  now  cross'd  the  threshold,  in  company  walking  to- 
gether. 

To  his  parents  Hermann  presented  her,  hastily  saying : — ' 

"  Here  is  a  maiden  just  of  the  sort  you  are  wishing  to 
have  her. 

Welcome  her  kindly,  dear  father !  she  fully  deserves  it, 
and  you,  too, 

Mother  dear,  ask  her  questions  as  to  her  housekeeping 
knowledge, 

*Goethe,   "  Hermann   and  Dorothea,"  ninth  canto.     Translated  by  E,  A. 
Bowiing,  London. 


Tin:  Ki>n  \n\<;   Mormon. 


That  you  may  see  how  well  she  deserves  to  form  one  of 

our  party." 

But  the  maiden's  .soul  was,  unhappily,  troubled  already, 
I>y  tin.'  talk  of  the  father,  who  just  hud  addivss'd   her  as 

follows, 
Speaking  good-humor'dly,  and   in   accents   pleasant   and 

lively:— 
"  Yes,    I'm    well    satisfied,  child  !     I  joyfully  see    that 

my  son  has 
Just  as  good  taste  as  his  father,  who  in  his  younger  days 

show'd  it, 
Always  leading  the  fairest    one   out   in   the  dance,  and 

then  lastly 
Taking  the  fairest  one  home  as  his  wife  —  'twas  your  dear 

little  mother  ! 
But  you  need'd  surely  but  a  short  time  to  form  your  de- 

cision, 

For  I  verily  think  it  is  to  follow  him  easy." 
Hermann  but  partially  heard  the  words  ;  the  whole  of 

his  members 

Inwardly  quiver'd,  and  all  the  circle  were  suddenly  silent. 
But   the    excellent   maiden,   by   words   of    such   irony 

wounded 
(As  she  esteemed  them  to  be),  and  deeply  distress'd  in 

her  spirit, 
Stood,  while  a  passing  flush  from  her  cheeks   a-  far   as 

her  neck  was 
Spreading;  but  she  restrain'd  herself,  and  collected  her 

thoughts  soon; 
Then  to  the  old  man  she  said,  not  fully  concealing  her 

sorrow  :  — 
"  Truly  I  was  not  prepared  by  your  son  for  such  a  re- 

ception, 
When  he  described  his  father's  nature,  —  that  excellent 

burgher,  — 
But  it  would  seem  that  you  feel  not  pity  enough  for  the 

pour  thing 
Who  has  just  cross'd  your  threshold,  prepared  to  enter 

your  service  ; 


MORAL  CULTURE.  279 

TU  you  would  not  seek  to  point  out,  with  ridicule  bitter, 
How  tar  removed  my  lot  from  your  son's  and  that  of 

yourself  is. 
True,  with  a  little  bundle,  and  poor,  I  haveenter'd  your 

dwelling, 

Which  is  the  owner's  delight  to  furnish  with  all  things. 
But  I  know  myself  well,  and  feel  the  whole  situation. 
Is  it  generous  thus  to  greet  me  with  language  so  jeering, 
Which  has  well  nigh  expell'd  me  the  house,  when  just 

on  the  threshold  ? 

Ye-,  the  father's  jest  has  wounded  ine  deeply,  I  own  it, 
Not  that  I  am  proud  and  touchy,  as  ill   becometh   a 

servant, 

But  because  iu  truth  in  my  heart  a  feeling  has  risen 
For  the  youth,  who  to-day  has  fill'd  the  part  of  my 

saviour; 
For  when  first  in  the  road  he  left  me,  his  image  remained 

still    . 
Firmly  fixed  in  my  mind;  and  I  thought  of  the  fortunate 

maiden 
Whom,  as  his  betroth'd  one,  he  cherish'd,  perchance,  in 

his  bosom. 
And  when  I  found  him  again  at  the  well,  the  sight  of 

him  charm'd  me, 

Just  as  if  I  had  seen  an  angel  descending  from  heaven. 
And    I   follow'd  him  willingly,  when  as  a  servant   he 

sought  me ; 
But  by  my  heart  in  truth  I  was  flatter'd  (I  need  must 

confess  it) 

As  I  hitherward  came,  that  I  might  possibly  win  him, 
If  I  became  in  the  house  an  indispensable  pillar. 
But,  alas !  I  now  see  the  dangers  I  well  nigh  fell  into, 
When  I  bethought  me  of  living  so  near  a  silently  loved 

one. 
Now  for  the  first  time  I  feel  how  far  removed  a  poor 

maiden 

Is  from  a  richer  youth,  however  clever  she  may  be. 
But  not  more  of  the  subject!     I  now  must  tarry  no 

longer 


I'su  TFTE  EDTTATIN.;  M<>nn:r;. 

In  this  house,  where  I  now  am  standing  in  pain  and  con- 
fusion, 

All  ray  foolish  hopes  and  my  feelings  freely  confess!  n-. 

Not  tiie  night  which,  with  sinking  clouds,  is  spreading 
around  us, 

Not  the  rolling  thunder  (I  hear  it  already)  shall  stop  me, 

Not  the  falling  rain,  which  outside  is  descending  in  tor- 
rents, 

Not  the  blustering  storm. 

So,  farewell !     I'll  tarry  no  longer.     My  fate  is  accom- 
plished ! " 

Thus  she  spoke,  and  towards  the  door  she  hastily  turn'd 
her, 

Holding  under  her  arm  the  bundle  she  brought  when 
arriving. 

But   the  mother  seized  by  both  of  her  arms   the  fair 
maiden, 

Clasping  her  round  the  body,  and  cried  with  surprise 
and  amazement: — 

"Say,  what  signifies  this?     These  fruitless  tears,  what 
denote  they? 

No,  I'll  not  leave  you  alone !     You're  surely  my  dear 
son's  betroth'd  one." 

Hermann  then  stepp'd  forward,  and  gently  address'd  her 
as  follows: — 

"  Do  not  repent  of  your  tears,  nor  yet  of  your  passing 
affliction ; 

For  they  perfect  my  happiness ;  yours  too,  as  I  wish  it. 

I  came  not  to  the  fountain  to  hire  so  noble  a  maiden 

As  a  servant,  I  came  to  win  your  affections. 

But,  alas !  my  timid  gaze  had  not  strength  to  discover 

Your  heart's  leanings ;  it  saw  in  your  eye  but  a  friendly 
expression. 

Merely  to  bring  you  home,  made  half  of  my  happiness 
certain; 

But  you  now  make  it  complete !     May  every  blessing  be 
yours,  then ! " 

Then  the  maiden  look'd  on  the  youth  with  heart-felt  emo- 
tion, 


CULTURE.  2<S1 


And  avoided  not  kiss  nor  embrace,  the  summit  of  rapture, 

When  they  also  are  to  the  loving,  the  long  wishM  lor 
pledges 

Of  approaching  bliss  in  a  life  which  now  seems  to  them 
endless. 

But  the  maiden  came,  and  gracefully  bent  o'er  the  father, 

Kissing  the  while  his  hand,  which  he  to  draw  back  at- 
tempted. 

And  she  said :  "  I  am  sure  that  you  will  forgive  the  sur- 
prised one, 

First  for  her  tears  of  sorrow,  and  then  for  her  tears  of 
true  rapture, 

Oh,  forgive  the  emotions  by  which  they  both  have  been 
prompted ; 

And  let  me  fully  enjoy  the  bliss  that  has  now  been 
vouchsafed  me ! 

Let  the  first  vexation,  which  my  confusion  gave  rise  to, 

Also  be  the  last!     The  loving  service  which  lately 

Was  by  the  servant  promised,  shall  now  by  the  daughter 
be  render'd." 

And  the  father,  his  tears  concealing,  straightway  em- 
braced her; 

Lovingly  came  the  mother  in  turn,  and  heartily  kiss'd 
her, 

Warmly  shaking  the  hand,  and  silently  wept  they  to- 
gether. 

Then  in  a  hasty  manner  the  good  and  sensible  pastor 

Seized  the  hand  of  the  father,  his  wedding-ring  off  from 
his  finger 

Drawing  (not  easily  though,  so  plump  was  the  member 
that  held  it); 

Then  he  took  the  mother's  ring,  and  betroth'd  the  two 
children, 

Saying :  "  Once  more  may  it  be  these  golden  hoops'  des- 
tination, 

Firmly  to  fasten  a  bond  altogether  resembling  the  old 
one! 

For  this  youth  is  deeply  imbued  with  love  for  the  maiden, 


282  Tin;  EDUCATING 


And  the  mairlcn  confesses  that  .she  for  the  youth  has  a 

liking; 
Therefore,  I  now  betroth  you,  and  wish  you  all   Me- 

hereafter, 
With   the  parents'  consent,  and  with  our  friend  hen'  as 

witness." 
And  the  neighbor  bent  forward,  and  added  his  own  bene- 

diction. 

THE    WEDDING.* 

Forth  from  the  curtain  of  clouds,  from  the  tent  of  purple  and 

scarlet, 
Issued  the  sun,  the  great  high  priest,  in  his.  garments  resplend- 

ent, 

Holiness  unto  the  Lord,  in  letters  of  light,  on  his  forehead. 
Round  the  hem  of  his  robe  the  golden  bells  and  pomegranates, 
Blessing  the  world  he  came,  and  the  bars  of  vapor  beneath  him 
Gleamed  like  a  grate  of  brass,  and  the  sea  at  his  feet  was  a  laver! 
This  was  the  wedding  morn  of  Priscilla  the  Puritan  maiden. 
Friends  were  assembled  together  ;  the  Elder  and  Magistrate  also 
Graced  the  scene  with  their  presence,  and  stood  like  the  Law 

and  the  Gospel, 
One  with  the  sanction  of  earth  and  one  with  the  blessing  of 

heaven. 

Simple  and  brief  was  the  wedding,  as  that  of  'Ruth  and  of  Boaz. 
Softly  the  youth  and  the  maiden  repeated  the  words  of  betrothal 
Taking  each  other  for  husband  and  wife  in  the  Magistrate's 

presence, 

After  the  Puritan  way,  and  the  laudable  custom  of  Holland. 
Fervently  then,  and  devoutly,  the  excellent  Elder  of  Plymouth 
Prayed  for  the  hearth  and  the  home  that  were  founded  that  day 

in  affection, 

Speaking  of  life  and  of  death  and  imploring  divine  benedictions. 
*  *  *  *  *  *  * 

Meanwhile  the  bridegroom  went  forth  and  stood  with  the  bride 

at  the  doorway, 

Breathing  the  perfumed  air  of  that  warm  and  beautiful  morning. 
Touched  with  autumnal  tints,  but  lonely  and  sad  in  the  sunshine, 
Lay  extended  before  them  the  land  of  toil  and  privation  ; 
There  were  the  graves  of  the  dead,  and  the  barren  waste  of  the 

sea-shore, 

There  the  familiar  fields,  the  groves  of  pine,  and  the  meadows  ; 
But  to  their  eyes  transfigured,  it  seemed  as  the  Garden  of  Eden, 
Filled  with  the  presence  of  God,  whose  voice  was  the  sound  of 

the  ocean. 
Soon  was  their  vision  disturbed  by  the  noise  and  stir  of  depart- 

ure, 

*From  H.  W.  Longfellow's  poem,  "  Miles  Standish." 


CULTURE.  283 


Fiiends  coining  forth  from  the  house,  and  impatient  of  longer 

delaying, 
Each  with  his  plan  for  the  day,  and  the  work   that       a  left  un- 

completed. 

Then  from  a  stall  near  at  hand,  amid  exclamations  of  wonder, 
Alden,  the  thoughtful,  the  careful,  so  happy,  so  proud  of  Priscilla, 
Brought  out  his  snow-white  bull,  obeying  the  hand  of  its  master, 
Led  by  a  cord  that  was  tied  to  an  iron  ring  in  its  nostrils, 
Covered  with  crimson  cloth,  and  a  cjshion  placed  for  a  saddle. 
She  should  not  walk,  he  said,  through  the  dust  and  heat  of  the 

noonday  ; 

Nay,  she  should  ride  like  a  queen,  not  plod  along  like  a  peasant. 
Somewhat  alarmed  at  first,  but  reassured  by  the  others, 
Placing  her  hand  on  the  cushion,  her  foot  in  the  hand  of  her  hus- 

band, 

Gayly,  with  joyous  laugh,  Priscilla  mounted  her  palfrey. 
"Nothing  is  wanting  now,"  he  said  with  a  smile,  "but  the  dis- 

taff; 

Then  you  would  be  in  truth  my  queen,  my  beautiful  Bertha!" 
Onward  the  bridal  procession  now  moved  to  their  new  habitation, 
Happy  husband  and  wife,  and  friends  conversing  together. 
Pleasantly  murmured  the  brook,  as  they  crossed  the  ford  in  the 

forest, 
Pleased  with  the  image  that  passed,  like  a  dream  of  love,  through 

its  bosom, 

Tremulous,  floating  in  air,  o'er  the  depths  of  the  azure  abysses. 
Down  through  the  golden  leaves  the  sun  was  pouring  his  splen- 

dors, 
Gleaming  "on  purple  grapes,  that,  from  branches  above  them  sus- 

pended, 
Mingled  their  odorous  breath  with  the  balm  of  the  pine  and  the 

fir-tree, 
Wild  and  sweet  as  the  clusters  that  grew  in  the  valley  of  Es- 

chol. 

Like  a  picture  it  seemed  of  the  primitive,  pastoral  ages, 
Fresh  with  the  youth  of  the  world,  and  recalling  Rebecca  and 

Isaac, 

Old,  and  yet  ever  new,  and  simple  and  beautiful  always, 
Love  immortal  and  young  in  the  endless  succession  of  lovers. 
So  through  the  Plymouth  woods  passed  onward  the  bridal  pro- 


T&IBTIETH  LETTER. 

ON  THE  CHOICE   OF   A   CALLING. 


He  who  is  not  amply  endowed  with  riches  must  look  to 
some  calling  for  the  means  of  living.     Kings,  too,  can  be- 


284  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

come  beggars.  As  hands  are  given  to  every  man  in  or- 
der to  work,  and  as  every  citizen  is  obliged  to  contribute 
for  the  welfare  of  his  country,  nobody  can  dispense  with 
the  choice  of  a  calling,  nor  with  the  preparation  for  it. 
The  only  question  is  this :  For  what  calling  ought  we  to 
design  our  children,  especially  our  sons  ?  First,  let  us 
beware  to  urge  a  calling  upon  them ;  not  we,  but  they 
themselves  have  to  select  it,  for  they.na.ust  pass  their  lives 
in  it.  Children  have  not  seldom  cursed  their  parents  for 
having  forced  a  calling  upon  them.  Since  it  is  the  ques- 
tion to  provide  the  necessary  livelihood  of  the  pupil,  it 
is  more  Advisable  to  designate  him  for  a  lower  position, 
but  one  which  supports  a  man,  than  for  a  high  one  in 
which  he  ruas  a  risk  to  one  day  starve. 

The  vocation  ought  to  be  a  useful  one,  even  if  it  be 
not  called  honorable.  If  it  only  be  so  (and  it  is  so  when 
it  is  useful  to  the  community),  no  matter,  let  your  chil- 
dren enter  it ! 

In  choosing  a  vocation  the  talents  and  the  disposition 
of  the  child  are  also  to  1)3  considered,  c.  y.,  a  simpleton 
is  not  fit  for  a  scholar.  Unnatural  professions  ought  not 
at  all  to  be  taken  in  consideration  of  the  choice,  as,  e.  g., 
those  of  Catholic  priests,  monks,  and  nuns  who  have  to 
pass  their  lives  in  dark  monasteries  and  convents,  which 
the  distinguished  poet,  Bulwer  Lytton,  fitly  calls  "  graves 
of  humanities,  where  hearts  congeal  to  ice,  with  everlast- 
ing winter."* 

The  education  for  a  definite  vocation  should  begin 
early.  An  ancient  philosopher  says:  "Everyone  who 
should  become  a  great  man,  in  a  department  of  culture, 

Richelieu,  Act  V.,  Scene  II 


MORAL  CULTURE.  285 

must  he  trained  for  it  from  a  child."  The  pupil  should 
acquire  the  knowledge  of  the  calling  upon  which  he  has 
decided  in  an  eminent  degree;  do  not  permit  mediocrity 
therein;  for  this  raises  neither  to  prosperity,  nor  to  honor. 
ILir.l  working,  diligence  for  years  in  those  particular  de- 
partments necessary  for  the  knowledge  of  the  future  call- 
in/,  is  the  task  of  the  pupil. 

But  whatever  be  the  calling  your  children  choose,  two 
objects  are  always  necessary,  viz.,  moral  culture  and  in- 
struction in  such  branches  of  learning  as  generally  in 
life  is  required.  Educate  them  to  be  virtuous  and  use- 
ful, of  sound  intellect,  supplied  with  the  knowledge  in- 
dispensable to  any  well-brought-up  man  ;  then  they  may 
I'd  low  a  vocation  lower  than  the  paternal  one;  it  will  be 
neither  a  harm  to  the  child  nor  a  disgrace  to  you. 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

THE    INSANK     PRIEST. 

John  S.  was  the  only  son  of  a  wealthy  farmer  in 
Moravia.  His  mother  was  very  fond  of  him,  and  de- 
sired him  to  become  a  priest.  Though  he  felt  no  incli- 
nation to  put  on  the  cassock,  he  obeyed  a  mother's  request 
First  she  sent  him  to  the  gymnasium,  where  he  had  to 
study  Latin,  Greek  and  Hebrew.  As  he  had  no  good 
talents,  he  was  a  poor  student;  but  by  dint  of  presents, 
spent  Ivy  the  parents  to  the  professors,  he  went  through 
this  institution,  and  began  then  to  study  theology.  But 
he  was  not  a  match  to  the  difficulties  of  this  science,  and, 
in  a  word,  must  resign  the  purpose  to  l>ecome  a  secular 
priest.  Still  the  mother  wanted  to  see  him  saying  the 
mass.  Consequently  she  tried  to  place  him  in  a  convent. 
First  he  attempted  to  become  a  Jesuit.  The  reverend 


286  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

fathers  tried  him  severely.  They  mortified  him  by  fast  i  1 1  _: . 
prayers,  vigils,  confessions,  etc.  In  order  to  habituate 
him  to  obedience  and  humility,  he  must,  like  a  dog, 
couch  on  the  floor,  and  the  father.-  jumped  over  his 
body.  That  was  too  much  for  his  brain  ;  it  commenced 
to  reel.  He  left  the  order,  and  tried  the  Carmelite.-. 
They  received  him ;  he  finished,  in  the  convent,  his 
studies,  and  was  consecrated  a  priest.  His  mother  saw  him 
say  the  mass,  and  felt  happy,  but  he  felt  miserable.  The 
yoke  of  celibacy  crushed  his  mind.  His  melancholy  in- 
creased, and  to  tell  it  in  a  word,  after  some  time  he  became 
insane,  and  was  put  into  the  convent  of  the  brothers  <>i' 
Hiarity,  who  had  to  superintend  him,  and,  if  possible,  to 
heal  his  mind.  In  this  condition  I  met  him  again.  He 
wished  to  go  to  his  convent  brethren.  I  got  permission  to 
conduct  him  to  their  monastery.  I  took  a  carriage.  l>ut 
„  on  the  road  we  were  met  \vith  soldiers  who  passed  by.  See- 
ing them  he  cried  out :  "  They  catch  me,  they  catch  me, 
help!  help!"  I  consigned  him  to  his  prior,  who  returned 
him  to  the  Id-others  of  charity;  but,  they  did  not  succeed 
in  curing  him;  he  continued  a  maniac  ! 

now  HE  TOCMJ  ins  CALLING.* 

"  I  said  I  was  satisfied  to  remain  on  the  old  place,  and 
I  thought  I  was,"  mused  Ned  I{oss,  one,  day:  "but 
although  glad  to  get  home  after  the  rough  treatment 
received  in  the  city  that  time,  still  I  am  not  content  to  live 
on  this  old  farm.  I  cannot  help  my  -feelings.  How  I 
would  delight  to  build  boats  for  a  living."  And  he  surveyed 
the  little  specimen  of  a  boat  that  he  was  fashioning  with 
a  jack-knife  with  much  satisfaction.  Just  then  Clilliu'd 

•From  Miss  Susan  Wixon's  popular  book,  Apples  of  Gold." 


MORAL  Cui/rrui:.  287 


\\Yllesby  came  along,  and  leaning  over  the  stone  wall, 
looked  at  the  work  upon  which  Ned  was  engaged  so 
earnestly,  while  a  curious  smile  illumined  his  handsome 
features. 

"  Making  a  boat,  eh !  For  what  purpose,  if  I  may 
inquire  ?  " 

"  Oh  I  nothing — not  much — only  for  fun,  you  know," 
answered  Ned,  boy-like. 

"  But  that's  well  made,  Ned !  I  wish  you'd  give  it  to 
me,  will  you  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  you  may  have  it  and  welcome ;  I  can  make 
another,  and  an  improvement  on  this." 

"Come,  Ned,  the  threshing  machine  is  anxious  to 
renew  your  acquaintance,  and  you'd  better  leave  your 
boat  building  and  come  up  to  the  barn,"  said  Ned's 
father,  coming  up  to  where  the  lad  was  at  work. 

"  One  word  with  you,  Mr.  Ross,  if  you  can  spare  me  -a 
moment  or  two,"  and  Mr.  Wellesby  leaped  over  the  wall. 

"No  time  now,  sir.  Come  around  this  evening  after 
supper,  and  I'll  hear  you,"  and  Mr.  Ross  moved  quickly 
away  in  the  direction  of  his  large  and  well-stocked  barn. 

That  evening,  as  Mr.  Ross  was  sitting  under  a  pear  tree 
in  his  back  yard  smoking  his  favorite  pipe,  and  congratu- 
lating himself  on  the  excellent  crops  of  the  sea-mi, 
Clifford  Wellesby  approached,  and  taking  a  seat  on  a 
rustic  bench  near  by,  after  a  few  preliminary  remarks 
on  the  weather,  the  favorable  prospects  of  trade,  and 
other  minor  matters,  inquired  of  Mr.  Ross  if  he  liked 
the  business  of  farming. 

"  Like  it !  why,  'tis  the-  business." 

"  It  is  just  the  occupation  you  would  choose,  is  it,  if 
left  to  yourself?  " 


288  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

"I  did  not  choose  it.  I  liked  it  from  a  boy ;  in  fact,  I 
believe  I  was  a  born  farmer — couldn't  get  used  to  any- 
thing else  if  I  tried." 

"And  do  you  propose  that  Ned  shall  be  a  farmer, 
too?" 

"  Well,  yes.  It's  the  best  thing  he  can  do.  He  got  a 
little  discontented  here,  a  spell  ago,  went  down  to  the 
city  to  get  a  job,  but  was  glad  enough  to  get  back  again, 
I  tell  you.  Yes,  I  think  Ned  will  work  into  a  good 
farmer,  by  and  by,  though  it  is  true  he  does  not  appear 
to  have  much  aptitude  for  the  business,  now." 

"  That  is  true,  as  I  have  observed,  Mr.  Ross ;  and  let 
me  say  you  will  do  your  son  one  of  the  greatest  wrongs 
a  father  can  do  a  child  if  you  compel  him  to  do  farm- 
work  against  his  will  and  inclination.  Look  here,  Mr. 
Ross,"  he  continued,  producing  the  little  boat,"  this  is  the 
handiwork  of  your  son — a  small  tiling,  but  it  tells  con- 
clusively, in  my  opinion,  the  bent  and  wish  of  your  boy. 
Look  at  those  curves,  the  rude,  but  handsome  workman- 
ship. It  shows  genius,  mechanical  skill  and  ingenuity, 
which  will  never  show  in  work  for  which  one  has  no  taste. 
But  give  the  lad  a  chance  at  what  he  likes  and  takes  an 
interest  in,  and  he  will  develop  a  talent  you  did  not 
dream  he  possessed." 

"  By  what  right,  sir,  do  you  presume  to  dictate  as  to  the 
future  business  of  my  son?"  and  Mr.  Ross  spoke  with 
some  show  of  feeling.  "I  would  have  yon  understand, 
sir,  that  my  motto  is,  '  Let  well  enough  alone.'" 

"I  do  not  presume  to  dictate  anything,  Mr.  Ross,  only 
I  have  been  some  time  occupied  upon  the  problem  of  why 
there  are  so  many  unemployed  men  about.  There  are 
various  reasons,  no  doubt,  but  one  is  that  there  are  very 


MOI;\I.  (Vi/rruK.  2.SD 


many  men  unskilled  workmen  in  the  land,  unskilled 
because  they  have  adopted  professions  for  which  they 
have  no  taste  or  liking.  Let  me  give  you  a  scrap  of  my 
own  history  and  it  may  not  be  uninteresting." 

"  Go  on." 

\\Vllesby  now  related  how  he  was  pushed,  against  his 
wishes,  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  into  a  dry  goods  house, 
where  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  men  and  youths  were 
employed ;  that  he  loathed  his  daily  servitude,  but  found 
a  vent  against  it  in  the  theater,  the  concert,  and  ±he 
saloon ;  that  after  two  and  a  half  years  of  misery  he 
came  home — graduated;  that  then,  without  a  trade, 
business,  or  profession,  he  became,  for  many  years,  a 
wanderer  on  the  sea  and  on  the  land,  living  from  hand 
to  mouth,  and  finally  concluded  his  narration  with  these 
words:  "  I  have  told  you  what  I  have,  that  you  may, 
perhaps,  consult  the  taste  of  your  son,  somewhat,  in 
choosing  his  life  business.  You  must  excuse  me  if  I 
have  taken  an  undue  interest  in  his  future  welfare.  It  is 
because  my  own  youth  was  wrecked  that  I  would  have 
him  and  all  others  escape  the  rocks  and  shoals  whereon 
I  foundered.  Good-evening !  " 

"  Good-evening,  sir,  and  I  hope  you  will  call  again." 

It  was  late  that  night  before  Mr.'  Roas  slept,  and  the 
next  day  he  was  very  thoughtful  and  quiet  all  day,  but 
none  knew  the  subject  of  his  thoughts.  A  week  later 
he  and  Ned  might  have  been  seen  in  a  seaport  town, 
talking  with  a  well-known  ship  builder,  and  when  Mr. 
Ross  went  home  Ned  was  left  behind. 

This  occurred  some  years  ago.  Today,  you  may  find 
among  the  most  intelligent  contractors  a  smart  and  ener- 
getic young  man  who  has  risen  from  the  lowest  step  in 
19 


2!)0  Tin:   Ki>r<  \ TIN-: 


his  profession  to  the  highest.  Guilder,  architect,  con- 
tractor, hi.1  is  carrying  <>u  a  large  and  extensive  business. 
Widely  known,  and  respected  by  all  who  know  him,  his 
name  is  a  synonym  lor  skill,  intelligence,  and  honesty. 
When  he  has  time  and  inclination,  he  tells  how  he  found 
his  calling,  the  work  that  he  loves,  and  succeeds  in  it 
because  he  loves  it. 


CONCLUSION  OF  THE  LETTERS. 
Now,  dear  friend,  we  have  reached  the  end  of  our 
general  researches  on  education.  If  yon  will  apply  their 
results  to  your  family,  you  will  bring  up  no  wondrous 
children,  no  angels,  still  noble-minded,  healthful,  intelli- 
gent, happy  meiiMvho  owe  you  their  heaven.  Such 
children  are  always  the  greatest  hles-ing  of  heaven. 
Don  Carlos  says  truly  in  Schiller's  drama:* 

"How  sweet,  how  glorious  is  it,  hand  in  hand 
With  a  dear  child,  in  inmost  soul  beloved, 
To  tread  once  more  the  rosy  paths  of  youth, 
And  dream  life's  fond  illusions  o'er  again! 
How  proud  to  live  through  endless  centuries, 
Immortal  in  the  virtues  of  a  son ! 
How  sweet  to  plant  what  his  dear  hand  shall  reap: 
To  gather  what  will  yield  him  rich  return, 
And  guess  how  high  his  thanks  will  one  day  rise." 


SUPPLEMENT. 

LITTLE     ORIGINAL      NAKI!  ATI  \  KS      FOB     THE     FIRST     CULTURE      OF 
HO    AND    INTELLECT     OF    cli  I  I.1M:  KN,     ALSO     A  '.  >  A  I'  1'  \  1:1 .1)    FOU 
T1IF.    FIKST    KKAl'iNt;. 

.MORAL     NARRATIVES. 

A  father  was  used  to  write  down   the  little  events  in 
his  family.      Here  the  report  of  MUIIC  ones  follow-: 

<  '.irl .1  ,''  Act  II,  bL-fue  II. 


MORAL  CFLTITRE.  201 

1.  Th'e   father    was   sitting    :it    the    cradle   of    little 
Rodolph  reading   and    rocking.     Now    the   boy  turned 
his  head,  looked    at  the   father,  and  smiled.     Rodolph 
was  then  three  months  old. 

2.  The  father   returned  from  the   city  and   brought 
Ifosu  a   little   basket,  saying:    "There,  dear   child,  the 
little  basket  is  yours;  I  give  it  you  as  a  reward  for  your 
diligence.     Rosa  rejoiced  much  of  the  nice  little  basket. 

3.  "A  worm,  a  worm !"  cried  Rosa,  as  she  went  down- 
stairs, and  saw  a  large  caterpillar  creeping  along  the 
wall.     The  father  seized  the  insect,  showed  it  to  the  child, 
and  said:    "This    animal  cannot  hurt  you,  for  it  is  BO 
small  and  helpless."     He  threw  it  aside,  and  the  insect 
crawled  farther. 

4.  A  he  goat  wanted  to  hit  little  Rosa  with  his  horns; 
then  her  courageous  brother,  Harry,  seized,  a  stick,  and 
struck  his  beard.     The  goat  bleated  and  ran  off.     Rosa 
i  io\v  said,  "  Thanks  to  you,  dear  brother,  for  having  kept  off 
the  ugly  animal,"  and  she  kissed  him. 

r>.  Henry  came  to  his  mother  and  said,  "  Dear 
mamma,  I  pray  you  give  me  some  cherries."  The 
mother  replied,  "  My  dear  child,  I  have  none  now,  but 
when  the  cherry-seller  comes  I  will  buy  some  of  the 
fruit  for  you."  Henry  was  satisfied  and  went  away. 
After  an  hour  became  running  and  cried,  while  yet  upon 
the  stairs:  "Mamma,  mamma!  the  woman  with  the 
cherries ! "  The  woman  came.  She  had  a  large  basket  full 
of  red,  fresh  cherries.  The  mother  bought  some  and 
gave  the  children  their  shares  in  their  aprons.  The 
children  sat  down  together  upon  the  threshold,  and  ate 
their  cherries  cheerfully.  They  ate  also  bread  with  the 
fruit.  • 


292  THE  EDUCATING  MOTIIKK. 

<>.  The  father  was  split ti ILL:  ,-tove- wood.  When  he  had 
done,  Rosa  carried  the  wood,  without  being  ordered  to  do 
so,  off  into  the  kitchen.  Therefore,  the  father  gave  her 
a  bunch  of  fine,  black  grapes.  The  girl  put  it  at  her 
side  on  the  table,  sat  down  upon  the  footstool,  and  rocked 
her  little  brother  with  her  foot.  She  did  not  eat  the 
grapes,  but  took  her  picture-book  into  her  hand  and 
turned  over  the  leaves,  looking  at  the  pretty  pictures; 
then  she  learned  to  read  from  the  father.  Not  before  the 
end  of  an  hour  did  she  taste  some  berries  of  the  grape 
cluster.  Rosa  was,  at  that  time,  yet  very  young. 

7.  "  There,  dear  Harry,  to-day,  you  eat  from  my  bowl ! " 
saying  so  Rodolph  shoved  his  bowl  near  to  his  brother, 
for  it  was  new  and  nicely  painted,  and  Harry  liked   it. 

8.  It  was  spring-time  when  Rosa  found  a  strawberry. 
Immediately. she  ran  with  it  to  her  father,  and   cried: 
"Father,  dear,  I  bring  you  some  good  thing;  look,  the 
fir-t  strawberry  I  have  found  this  spring."     The  father 
answered:  "I  thank  you,  my  dear  child,  for  your  good- 
will; but  keep  the  berry  for  yourself."     Saying  this  he 
ki--ed  the  daughter  and  returned  her   the  strawberry. 
He  told  also  the  mother  what  Rosa  had  done,  and  the 
mother  praised  the  good  child. 

!i.  Rosa  also  learned  to  know  many  flowers.  She 
knew  the  heart's-ease,  the  violet,  the  lilies,  the  ground -ivy. 
the  shepherd's-bag,  the  daffodily,  the  gilly-flowers,  the 
yellow  and  red  primrose,  the  marsh  marigold,  some  specie- 
of  orchis  and  gentian,  the  renonculi,  the  pansy,  the  dan- 
delion, the  goafs-beard,  the  tulips,  the  evergreen,  and 
many  others.  Whenever  she  found  a  new  plant,  she 
brought  it  to  her  father,  and  asked  him  its  name.  While 
he  collected  plants,  she  helped  him,  and  brought  for  him 
many  a  rare  plant  home.  * 


MORAL  CULTURE.  293 


10.  Rosa  was  sensible  <>f  the  charms  of  nature.     On 
one  occasion,  when  snow  and  ice  disappeared  from  the 
fields,   she  and  Harry  were  in   the   yard,  enjoying   the 
warm  and  bright  sunshine.     Now  Rosa,  seizing  Harry's 
hand,  exclaimed, 

"  O  wondrous  charming  is  this  earth, 
Ami  worthy  to  rejoiee  in  it! 
Therefore  I  will,  till  I  turn  ashes, 
Be  joyful  in  this  beautiful  world."  * 

The  mother  heard  her  words,  and  rejoiced  in  the  affec- 
tionate children. 

11.  Rosa  was  not  quite  two  years  old  when  she  would 
sit  by  the  hour,  at  the  cradle  of  her  baby  brother,  rock- 
ing him,  nn wear iedly.     Sometimes,  during  this  monoto- 
nous period,  she  would  fall  asleep  herself,  and  her  little 
head,  with  the  light  hair,  resting  upon  the  coverlet  of  her 
brother,  made  a  charming  picture. 

12.  Rosa  learned  diligently  in  her  primer.      On  one 
occasion  she  reminded  her  father  still  in  the  evening  that 
he.  had  not  taught  her  that  day.     The  father  said,  "To- 
morrow I  will  teach  yon  again,  for  now  it  is  night ;  any- 
how, you  must  be  sleepy;  supper  will  also  presently  be 
ready."     But  the  child  began  to  cry,  because  she  should 
not  more  learn.     Supper  was  served  up,  and  they  were 
eating.     After  supper  the  mother  said,  " Children,  now 
go  to  bed!"    She   undressed   Harry.     But  Rosa    said, 
"  M  amma,  let  me  still  stay  up,  I  will  still  learn."     She  was, 
indeed,   learning   with   liveliness   and    joy;    meanwhile 
II.T  In-other  slept  already   a  long  while. 

13.  Harry  lay,  sick  from  fever,  in  bed;  his  head  was 
red-hot.     Rosa  approached  his  bed,  bent  her  head  upon 

*  Hoelty's  poem,  "  Encouragement  to  Ilejok*." 


294  Tin:  Ki»r<  ATIM;  MOTHER. 

hi>  pillow,  clasped  her  arm  around  the  neck  of  the  nek 
brother  and  wept.  Next  day  Harry  was  hut  a  little  hot  ; 
he  was  able  even  to  rise  from  bed.  Rosa  hurried  for  a 
chair,  brought  it  to  him  and  said,  "Here,  dear  Harry, 
sit  down."  She  placed,  then,  his  little  plate  before  him, 
put  the  spoon  beside,  and  helped)  him  quick  to  his  meal. 
Ix<i-a  did  all  this  because  she  was  glad  that  her  brother 
had  recovered. 

1 4.  1 1  a  IT  v  fel  1  ( »nce  more  sick  from  fever ;  he  was  f<  >r  si  x 
weeks  confined  to  bed.     At  one  time  he  was  red-hot,  at 
another  lie  became  chilled  all  over    the  body;   this   \va- 
au  intermittent  fever.     The   parent-   were  sorrowful  for 
him,  and   trembled   for    his    life.     The    mother    secret  Iv 
shed  many  tears;  she  arose  many  a  night  ten  times  and 
more,  and   watched    I  he  sick   child.      Harry   was,  before 
the  disease,  predisposed  to  willfulness,  but  now   he   was 
soft  and  patient,  took  without  complaint   the   most    bitter 
medicines  and   asked    for  them,  sometimes,  him>elf.      At 
la<t  he  grew  convalescent,  and  the  father  often  brought 
him  flowers  from  the  field;  they  caused  him  much  plea.— 
ure.     As  he  got  up  again,  he  was  pale  and  meager ;  his 
little  feet  trembled.     Harry  since  was  softer  and  more 
quiet. 

15.  Rosa's  brother  had  died,  after  his  parents  had  en- 
joyed him  only  three  days.     The  mother  wept  much  ;  but 
the  father  said:  "Don't  cry,  mother,  dear,  to  die  is  tin- 
natural  fate  of  humanity.     Other  parents  experience  the 
same  misfortune.      Most  of  the  children   die   in   the  first 
years  of  life.     Fred  [that  was  the  name  of  the  new-born 
child]  will  forever  live  in  our  memory.     We  have  still 
three    other  lovely  children,  we  will  cling  to   these   so 
much  closer."     The  corpse,  was  put  into  a  little  frame 


fr  LITRE.  205 


built  of  five  boards,  and  the  children  were  not  at  all 
afraid  of  the  little  dead  brother;  they  adorned  his  pale 
lace  with  a  wreath  of  flowers.  After  three  days  his  little 
body  was  carried  off  and  buried.  If  Harry  would  s|«-ak 
of  Freddy,  Rosa  closed  his  mouth,  saying,  "Do  you  not 
see  that  mamma  is  crying  when  you  sj>eak  of  him?" 
And  nature  gave  the  mourning  parents  another  M>II, 
whom  they  named  after  the  dead  one;  lie  thrived  and 
grew  up  vigorously.  Then  the  parents  forgot  by  little 
aiid  little  their  grief  for  the  lost  child. 

16.  Harry  and  Rosa  were  sitting  in  the  meadow  under 
a  tree;  Rosa  carried  a  satchel  in  which  were  two  piece-  of 
bread  and  two  apples.     Mother  had  them  given  to  the 
children.     As  they  were  going  to  breakfast  a  blind  man 
pas.-ed  by,  whom  a  boy  was  leading.     He  asked  the  chil- 
dren   for   some   alms.     They  gave  him,   instantly,   their 
bread,  and  Rosa  asked  :  "  Poor  man,  do  you  like  an  apple. 
also?     Here,  take  this!  "     And  she  passed  him  her  apple. 
Harry  would  not  give  up   his   apple,    but  was   crying. 
Rosa  exhorted  him:  "Be  ashamed!     We  receive  every 
day  apples  from  our  mother,  and  the  poor  man  here  has 
none  and  he  is  blind."     Harry  no  longer  refused.     Rosa 
readied  into  her  pocket  and  drew  out  a  shilling;  she  gave 
it  to  the  blind  man;   she  had  received  it  herself  as  a 
present.     Xow  the  children  returned  to  the  parents  and 
told  them  all  that  had  happened,  and  the  parents  praised 
the  children. 

17.  Rosa  had  another  brother  whose  name  was  Arnold. 
On  the  feast  of  carnival  some  rough  boys  of  the  village 
suddenly  entered  the  room,  masked  and  disguised,  and 
uttered    strange   howls.     Arnold  was   much  frightened, 
cried,  and  anxiously  hid  himself  behind  his  mother.     The 


296  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

parent.-  Named  the  young  fellows  severely,  but  Arnold 
for  a  long  time  feared  every  mask  and  was  frightened  at 
any  occasion  even  of  little  iiii|>ortanee.  Such  rude  car- 
nival pranks  ought  not  to  be  permitted. 

18.  ". Rodolph,"  said  the  mother,  "go  with  Rosa  and 
don't  stray  alone."     However  Rodolph  did  not  stay  with 
his  sister,  but  mingled  with  other  boys  who  were  playing. 
One  of  them   hit    Rodolph  with  a  stone;    his  eye  was 
bleeding  and  he  ran  crying  home.     The  father  conducted 
his  boy  to  the  father  of  him  who  had  thrown  the  stone. 
This  had  to  undergo  a  punishment  indeed,  but  Rodolph 
got  a  blue  eye.     Children  ought  to  obey  their  parents. 

19.  Rosa  and  Harry  had  studied  diligently.    In  the  af- 
ternoon their  father  said,  "  Come,  children,  we  will  have  a 
sail  on  the  lake."     They  flew  for  their  hats  and  off  they 
went  to  the  lake.     Harry  soon  got  tired,  for  he  was  still 
small.    The  father  took  him  in  his  arms  and  carried  him 
along.     So  they  arrived  at  the  lake.     There  they  picked 
first  several  flowers  and  Rosa  wound  a  pretty  wreath  for 
her  mother. 

A  blue  dragon-fly  fluttered  along  the  shore;  Harry 
tried  to  catch  it,  but  in  vain ;  then  the  father  went  and 
caught  it  for  him.  The  boy  exclaimed,  "  What  a  pretty 
bird  !  "  The  father  said :  "  That  is  no  bird,  but  an  insect 
[which  word  means  an  animal  with  notches  or  links]  ;  do 
you  see  here  the  notches  in  the  midst  of  its  slender  body  ? 
It  belongs  to  the  net-winged  insects,  for  its  blue-veined 
wings  resemble  a  net."  After  the  children  had  attent- 
ively viewed  the  insect,  the  father  let  it  fly  again.  Then 
they  went  on  board  of  the  boat,  and  the  father  rowed 
into  the  midst  of  the  lake;  the  waves  were  so  clear  and 
lirighl  ;  the  sky  above  them  smiled  so  serenely;  the  boat 


M«ii:.vL,  CULTURE.  297 

rocked  them  so  softly  <m  the  waves;  here  and  there  a 
little  fish  splashed  in  the  water;  the  children  shouted 
aloud  with  joy.  "Papa!"  cried  Rosa,  "see  the  beauti- 
ful yellow  and  white  flowers  in  the  midst  of  the  water!" 
"Those  are  water-lilies;  will  you  look  at  them  close  by?" 
The  children  wished  to  do  so,  and  the  father  steered  the 
boat  into  the  midst  of  the  fine  lotus  flowers.  They 
picked  some  and  put  them  in  the  skiff.  Then  the  father 
let  down  a  net  into  the  water,  and  see!  when  he  withdrew 
it,  three  carp  wriggled  within.  The  fish  caused  the  chil- 
dren much  pleasure.  In  this  way  they  amused  them- 
selves on  the  lake,  till  it  grew  twilight ;  then  they  returned 
home.  The  fish  were  fried ;  the  children  liked  them  well. 
They  had  not  forgotten  the  wreath  and  the  water-lilies 
either.  Their  mother  was  much  pleased  with  the  wreath. 

20.  "  Children,"  the  mother  said,  "  if  you  are  diligent, 
you  are  allowed  to  make  the  father  some  present."     The 
birthday  of  the  father  came ;  the  mother  sent  the  chil- 
dren to  the  field  in  order  to  gather  fine  flowers,  and  she 
wound  for  Harry  a  nice  wreath,  and  for  Rosa  a  bouquet. 
After  this  she  dressed  the  children  in  their  holiday  gar- 
ments;   they  went  into   the  room  of  their  father,  and 
offered  him  their  presents.     The  father  took  them,  kissed 
the  children,  thanked  the  mother,  and  told  her  to  cook 
for  the  children  their  favorite  dish.     The  children  were 
happy. 

21.  When  the  mother  died,  she  left  nine  children,  of 
whom  the  youngest  was  two  years  and  five  months  old. 
The  age  of  Rosa  was,  then,  seventeen   years   and  four 
months.    She  was  a  well-educated  young  lady,  able  to  read 
and  speak  French,  an  excellent  seamstress,  a  good  cook, 
and  a  kind-hearted  maiden.     Everybody  respected  and 


298  THE  EDUCA-PIN*;  "MOTHER. 

loved  her.  But  alas!  she  was  sickly.  For  four  ycai>  .-In- 
had  been  suHering  inucli  ]>ain.  The  physicians  could  not 
vesture  her  to  health;  all  the  medicines  which  they  gave 
her  were  but  palliative,  relieving  her  [tains,  but  not  heal- 
ing her  entirely.  During  one  winter  she  was  continual  I  \ 
bedridden,  and  when  she  was  able  to  rise  again,  one  leg 
had  much  shortened ;  she  was  almost  lame.  After  the 
death  of  the  mother  the  father  engaged  a  servant-girl, 
who  did  not  behave  to  his  satisfaction.  Neither  was 
Rosa  satisfied  with  her.  The  girl  was  discharged,  and 
the  father  wished  to  get  another  one.  But  Rosa  objected, 
offering  her  own  services  instead.  The  father  was  doubt- 
ful, she  insisted;  finally  he  consented  in  order  to  try  her 
plan.  Things  went  on  smoothly.  Rosa  carried  on  the 
housework  mostly  alone,  she  did  the  cooking,  sewing,  etc., 
and  took  care  of  her  younger  brothers. 

After  eight  months  she  fell  sick  from  a  nervous  fever,  to 
which  she  succumbed.  She  was  only  fourteen  days  sick. 
When  she  had  deceased,  her  skull  was  di.-sected,  and  the 
physician  found  her  brain  entirely  suppurated.  She 
could  live  no  longer  more.  Nature  relieved  her  from  her 
suffering.  The  whole  community  followed  her  to  her 
grave.  She  was  buried  close  to  her  mother.  A  plain 
monument  was  raised  on  the  tomb  of  the  mother  and 
daughter.  Peace  and  rest  be  with  their  ashes! 

NARRATIVES   FROM    ZOOLOO7. 

1.  The  linnet.  "  Do  you  like  to  know,  my  dear  child, 
who  was  singing  in  the  hedge,  so  merrily  ?"  It  was  I,  the 
little  linnet.  To  be  sure,  I  am  a  poor  little  bird !  Some- 
times rats,  sometimes  wicked  boys  rob  and  kill  my  young 
ones.  Therefore,  when  they  approach  my  nest,  I  cry, 
Ga!  Gal  Ga!  I  stuff  my  little  nest  with  moss  and 


MORAL  CULTUEE.  299 

horse-hair,  and  I  build  it  in  the  midst  of  hedges  in  order 
to  protect  my  young  ones.  Pray,  dear  boy,  don't  lay 
snares  for  me !  I  like  liberty  as  well  as  you.  Then  I 
will,  dancing  in  the  air,  sing  you  merry  songs.  Besides 
you  owe  me  many  a  cherry,  for  I  catch  the  caterpillars 
which  gnaw  the  blossoms.  Moreover,  I  am  not  pretty, 
anyhow,  you  would  not  be  pleased  with  my  ash-colored 
divss.  For  those  reasons,  let  me  sing,  undisturbed,  my 
harmless  song !  [waring  tip]  Ts,  ts,  ts ! " 

2.  The  swan.     "  To  be  sure,  I  resemble  the  goose,  but 
my  neck  is  longer  than  hers,  and  my  bill  is  black.     If 
I  am  swimming^n  the  lake,  you  admire  me.     In  winter 
I  migrate  to  warmer  countries;  then  the  tones  of  my 
voice  resound  high  in  the  air,  like  the  chime  of  bells. 
Some  of  my  relations  cannot  sing ;  these  have  a  red  bill 
and  a  gray  plumage." 

3.  The  humming-bird*.     "  We  are  the  smallest  of  all 
bin  Is,  but  the  prettiest,  too;  therefore  ladies  and  maidens 
carry  us  for  ornament  las  pendants  in  their  ears.     We 
live  on  the  sweet  honey  of  flowers,  fly  as  fast  as  an  arrow, 
and  lay  two  little  eggs,  each  as  large  as  a  pea." 

4.  The  eagle  and  the  turtle.     Once  an  eagle  wanted 
to  eat  a  turtle.     The  turtle  shut  her  stone  house,  and 
was  safe ;  but  the  eagle  seized  her  with  his  strong  talons, 
carried  her  up  to  the  sun,  and  let  her  tumble  down  upon 
a  rock.     There  the  turtle  lay  smashed  by  the  deep  fall, 
and  the  eagle  took  his  repast. 

5.  The  hen.     A.  hen  had  many  chickens,  which  she 
led  about  in  the  garden.     Once   Turk,  the  house  dog, 
arrived,  and  wanted  to  run   through  the  midst  of  the 
flock.     The  hen  attacked  him,  and  Turk  took  to  flight. 
But  soon  another  enemy  made  his  appearance — the  fal- 


300-  THE  EDUCATING  MOTHER. 

con.  The  hen  .summoned  quickly  the  young  ones,  cluck- 
ing; they  came  running,  and  were  covered  under  her 
wings ;  then  they  were  safe  and  secure. 

A  good,  gentle  child  listens  willingly  and  fast  to  the 
word  of  the  mother,  and  obeys  her  like  those  dear  little 
chickens.  "When  the  hen  clucks,  they  come  running, 
the  dear  little  chickens. 

6.  The  pigeon*.     "  We  comprise  a  large  family.     This 
one,  with   the  black  spotted  neck,  is  the  softly  cooing 
turtle-dove.     That,  with  the  black  collar,  is  the  merry 
laughter-pigeon.     Here  is  the  little  sparrow-pigeon,  there, 
the  large  crown-dove,  our  aunt  from  Jrfrica.     Here  the 
carrier-pigeon  just  arrives  from  a  journey  to  Liege,  where 
she  carried  a  letter  of  her  master.     The  flight  took  her 
only  one  hour,  though  Liege  is  twelve  hours  far  from  us." 

7.  The  spider.     The  father  caught  a  spider,  and  put 
her  on  a  little  hill  of  clay  which  he  had  raised  in  the 
midst  of  a  large  dish,  and  surrounded  with  water.     The 
children  were  eager  to  learn  what  now  should  happen. 
The  spider  would  first  run  off  from  the  hill,  but  as  she 
arrived  at  the  water  she  saw  that  she  was  taken  prisoner. 
Xow  she  blew  up  herself,  drew  a  long  thread  from  the 
wart  of  her  belly,  and  threw  it  over  the  water  to  the 
edge  of  the  dish,  where  it  adhered.     After  having  built, 
in  this  way,  a  temporary  bridge,  she  passed  easily  over 
it,  and  was  released.     The  father  let  her  depart ;  but  the 
children   exclaimed,  amazed,   "What   wonderful   forces 
nature  gives  to  her  creatures ! " 


'age  b'9,  line  12  from  above,  instead  of  "me"  read  "my." 
Paye  74,  lin.-s  7  and  12  from  above,  instead  of  "Renter"  read 
'•Renter." 

Page  87,  line  7  from  below,  instead  of  "abilites"  read  "abili- 
ties." 

Page  93,  line  10  from  below,  instead  of  "emperior"  read  "em- 
peror.'' 

Page  104,  line  IS  from  above,  instead  of  "elenr"  read  "'7</v,. 
Page  107,  line  5  from  above,  instead  of  '"Moment"  read  "Mon- 
ument. " 

Page  112,  line  15  from  above,  "exit"  should  follow  line  14  in- 
stead of  line  15. 

I'.i-e  111),  linj  12  from  below,  instead  of  "pod"  read  "pork." 
\\cj.u  132,  line  8  from  below,  instead  of  "is"  read  "are." 
Page  1(35,  line  1+  from  above,  instead  «>f  "Kindergartens''  read 
"Kindergarten;"  also  on  p.  lu'6,  line  6  from  below;  p.  1(>7,  last 
line;  p.   17-,  line  5  from  below;  p.    173,  line  6  from  below,  and 
p.   I!)::,  line  u'  from  above. 

Page  1(35,  line  17  from  above,  instead  of  "Kindergrerteu''  read 
"Kindergarten;"  the  same  way  on  p.  filj,  line  2  from  below;  p. 
172,  line  16  from  above,  line  2  from  below,  and  p.  173,  line  13 
from  below. 

Page  188,  foot-note,  instead  of  "Fi'-nelon"  read  ''Feiu'lon. "' 
Page  '203,  line  3  from  abave,  instead  of  "days"  read  '  plays." 
Page   203,    Him    8    from    below,    instead    of    "Helois6"    read 
"Heloise." 

Page  203,  line  j  from  bslow,  iisteal  of  "Don  Quixote''  read 
"Don  Quijote." 

Page  205,  line  3  from  abov^,  instea  I  of  "cupimitque''  read  "ciip- 
vmu»iue." 


A     000819924     2 


• 


